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MiRIAGK    ROLLED    ON    AND    LEFT    HIM    STANDING    TIIH.K  " 


THE    RED    COCKADE 


B 


BY 


STANLEY  J.  WEYMAN 
^  » 

AUTHOR   OK       A    GENTLEMAN    OF   FRANCE"    ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW  YORK 

HARPER  &   BROTHERS   PUBLISHERS 
1896 


Copyright,  1895,  by  HARPKR  i  BROTHERS. 


All  right*  reterved. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.     THE    MARQUIS    DE    ST.   ALAIS 1 

II.     THE    ORDEAL ^     •       •       •      19 

III.     IN    THE    ASSEMBLY 36 

iv.    L'AMI  DU  PEUPLE 53 

V.     THE    DEPUTATION 68 

VI.     A    MEETING    IN    THE    ROAD 86 

VII.     THE    ALARM 103 

VIII.     GARGOUF 119 

IX.     THE    TRICOLOR 135 

X.     THE    MORNING    AFTER    THE    STORM 150 

XI.     THE    TWO    CAMPS 165 

XII.     THE    DUEL 179 

XIII.  A    LA    LANTERNE 193 

XIV.  IT    GOES    ILL 208 

XV.     AT    MILHAU 223 

XVI.     THREE    IN    A    CARRIAGE 239 

XVII.     FROMENT    OF    N1MES 254 

XVIII.     A    POOR    FIGURE 268 

XIX.     AT    NIMES 283 

XX.     THE    SEARCH • 299 

XXI.     RIVALS 315 

XXII.     NOBLESSE    OBLIGE 331 

XXIII.  THE    CRISIS 347 

XXIV.  THE    MILLENNIUM 362 

XXV.     BEYOND    THE    SHADOW 378 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 

"THE  CARRIAGE  ROLLED  ON  AND  LEFT  HIM  STANDING  THERE"     .     Frontispiece 

"  '  WHAT    HATE    YOU    DONE    WITH    THE    GARDEN  ?'    HE    ASKED  " 3 

"I   SAW    NOT   ONLY   THE    HAVOC    CAUSED   BY   THE   GREAT   FROSTS "       ...  11 

"  THE    STREET   SEEMED   TO    BE    ALIVE   WITH   MOVING   LIGHTS   AND   FIGURES  "  21 

"  '  M.  DK    SAUX,'  HE   SAID,  POLITELY,   '  WE    ARE    WAITING    FOR   YOU  '"         .       .  25 

"ONE    MOMENT   AND    I    HAD   THE    DOOR   OF   THE   ASSEMBLY   OPEN".      ...  37 

"'GENTLEMEN,'  IIK  SAID,  IN  A  LOUD,  RINGING  VOICE,  'THERE  is  STRANGE 

NEWS'" 47 

"  M.  LE  BARON  TURNED  IN  A  FLASH,  AND  STRUCK  THE  FELLOW  WITH  HIS 

STICK" 55 

"  SHE  STAMPED  HER  FOOT.     '  TO  YOUR  KENNELS,  I  SAY  !'" 63 

"HIS  COSTUME  WAS  AS  GREAT  A  SURPRISE  AS  HIS  APPEARANCE"    ...  77 

"'WHAT  is  IT,  THEN ?'  i  SAID.     'ASK  WHAT  YOU  WANT  TO  ASK'"     .    .  81 

"'MADEMOISELLE,'  i  SAID" 93 

"  HE  PAUSED   TO    KISS    HIS   HAND  " ' 99 

"FOR  A  MOMENT   I    STOOD   ROOTED   TO   THE   SPOT1' 107 

"AN    OLD    MAN,  LEAN-JAWED    AND    FEEBLE,  CONFRONTED    ME " 113 

"'WHERE  is  HE?'  i  ASKED,  HOARSELY" 123 

"HUNG  THERE  HELPLESS  BKTWKKN  EARTH  AND  HEAVEN" 131 

"HE  CAME  UP  RAPIDLY,  HOLDING  THE  LIGHT  HIGH  IN  FRONT  OF  HIM1'     .  141 

"  '  RESPECT  THE  TRICOLOR  !'  " 147 

"I  LONGED  TO  KISS  THE  LITTLE  HALF-SHROUDED  HEAD " 153 

"SHE  MOVED  HER  FOOT  FORWARD  AND  TOUCHED  THE  RIBBON"  ....  161 

"'YES,'  I  SAID,  STIFFLY,  FOR  I  FOUND  ALL  LOOKING  AT  ME "  .     .     .    ,*    .  175 

'"FOUL  PLAY!' HE  CRIED,  PASSIONATELY.     'A  STROKE  DESSOUS  F  "  .     .     .  185 

"  '  I  TAKE  POSSESSION  !'  I  CRIED,  HOARSELY  " 201 

"'WHICH  OF  YOU  WILL  GO  TO  HELL  FOR  THE  REST?'" 205 

"ANDRE  CAME  IN  WITH  MY  BROTH" 211 

"'GO1.'  I  SAID.    'i  HAVE  HKARD  ENOUGH.    BEGONK  !' " 219 

"  '  WHEREAS  I — I,'  HE  ANSWERED,  GROWING  GUTTURAL  IN  HIS  EXCITEMENT, 

'HAVE  NONE  OF  THESE  THINGS'"   ...                                            .  227 


VI  M.l.rsTKATIONS 

MM 

"'SAFB  BIND,  SAFE  FIND,'  AXD  UK  DREW  HIS  STICK  SHARPLY  ACROSS  THK 
BARS  OF  THK  GR1LLK" 236 

"WITHIN  FIVE  MINUTE  WK  HAD  PASSED  THE  GATES  ASH  LEIT  THEM  BE- 
HIND rs -l.'i 

"'  Yd'  HAVE  MET  FRIENDS?'    M.  LE  BARON  PERSISTED,  LOOKING   AT  MADAM 

"TAKEN  ENTIRELY  BY  SURPRISE,  i  TRIED  TO  SHOUT,  BUT  THK  IIKAVY  CLOAK 

STIFLED  ME" 2C5 

"EACH  EVENING  THE  COMMITTEE  CAME  TO  STARE  AND  QUESTION"  .     .     .  '!",'> 

"'IT    IS    I  — IttTON,'  CAMF.   THE    ANSWER.       'l  HAVE   YOUR   HORSE,  M.  l.K    VI 

cojmt'" 

"SHE  SIGNED  TO  MB  TO  STAND  BY  THE  PILLAR,  AND  HERSELF  KNELT  DOW. 

"THK  MAN  WAS  LOUIS  ST.  ALAIS" -J '.'."• 

Ul  NO,  MONSIEUR,'  HE  SAID.     'l  DO  NOT  KNOW  THK  GENTLEMAN1"  .     .     .  305 
"  THEY  CAME  ALONG  AT  A  GOOD  PACE,  FILLING  THE  STREET  FROM  WALL  TO 

WALL" 311 

"WK  PASSED  ANOTHER  DOOR,  CLOSED  THIS  T1JJK" 

"'THEY  TOLD  ME  YOU  WERE  DEAD!"  SHE  CRIED 327 

'"HE  is  NO  SPY!'  DE.MSE  CRIED,  IN  A  VOICE  THAT  WENT  TO  MY  HEART"  333 
"THK  MAN  WHO  WAS  RESPONSIBLE  FOR  ALL  WALKED  THE  ROOF  ABOVE 

WITH  FRETFUL  STEPS1' 337 

"  MEN  BRINGING  UP  POWDER  FROM  THE  CELLARS  BLOCKF.D  THE  PASSAGI  "  855 
"STANDING  ON  THE  THRESHOLD,  UK  GAVE  A  FEW  SHARP  ORDERS  FOR  THK 

BARRICADING  OF  THK  DOOR" 359 

"ON   LONG   I'lKKS  RAISED  HIGH  ABOVE  THE  MOB  MOVED  THE  SEVKKKD 

HKADS" 367 

"THE  THIRD  BORE  ME  DOWN  WITH  HIS  PIKE  FIXED  IN  MY  SHOUI.DH:"    .  :;7". 
VEEN  THEM  i  PASSED  THROUGH  A  DOOR  THAT  SEEMED  TO  OPEN  IN 

THE  WALL" 379 

"  '  1  SAY  I  WILL  HAVE  NO  MORK  !'  HE  ANSWERED,  FIERCELY " 389 


THE    RED    COCKADE 


CHAPTER  I 
THE    MARQUIS    DE    ST.    ALAIS 

WHEN  we  reached  the  terraced  walk,  which  my  father  made 
a  little  before  his  death,  and  which,  running  under  the  windows 
at  the  rear  of  the  chateau,  separates  the  house  from  the  new 
lawn,  St.  Alais  looked  round  with  eyes  of  scarcely  veiled  con- 
tempt. 

"  What  have  you  done  with  the  garden  ?"  he  asked,  his  lip 
curling. 

"  My  father  removed  it  to  the  other  side  of  the  house,"  I  an- 
swered. 

"Out  of  sight?" 

"  Yes,"  I  said  ;  "  it  is  beyond  the  rose  garden." 

"  English  fashion!"  he  answered,  with  a  strong  and  a  polite 
sneer.  "And  you  prefer  to  see  all  this  grass  from  your  win- 
dows r 

"  Yes,"  I  said  ;  "  I  do." 

"  Ah  !  And  that  plantation  ?  It  hides  the  village,  I  suppose, 
from  the  house?" 

"  Yes." 

He  laughed.  "  Yes,"  he  said.  "  I  notice  that  is  the  way  of 
all  who  prate  of  the  people  and  freedom  and  fraternity.  They 
love  the  people;  but  they  love  them  at  a  distance,  on  the  far- 
ther side  of  a  park  or  a  high  yew  hedge.  Now,  at  St.  Alais  I 
like  to  have  ray  folks  under  my  eye,  and  then,  if  they  do  not 


TIIK     KKD     COCK  \I'K 


behave,  there  is  the  carcun.  By-the-way,  what  have  you  (lone 
with  yours,  Vicomtc?  It  used  to  stand  opposite  the  entrance." 

"  I  have  burned  it,"  I  said,  feeling  the  blood  mount  to  my 
templrs. 

••  Your  father  did,  you  mean,"  he  answered,  with  a  glance  of 
surprise. 

"  No,"  I  said,  stubbornly,  hating  myself  for  being  ashamed 
of  that  before  St.  Alais  of  which  I  had  been  proud  enough 
when  alone.  "  I  did.  I  burned  it  last  winter.  I  think  the 
day  of  such  things  is  past." 

The  Marquis  was  not  my  senior  by  more  than  five  years ;  bnt 
those  five  years,  spent  in  Paris  and  Versailles,  gave  him  a  won- 
drous advantage,  and  1  felt  his  look  of  contemptuous  surprise 
as  I  should  have  felt  a  blow.  However,  he  did  not  say  any- 
thing at  the  moment,  but  after  a  short  pause  changed  the  sub- 
ject  and  began  to  speak  of  my  father;  recalling  him  and  things 
in  connection  with  him  in  a  tone  of  respect  and  affection  that 
in  a  moment  disarmed  my  resentment. 

"The  first  time  that  1  shot  a  bird  on  the  wing,  I  was  in  his 
company  !"  he  said,  witli  the  wonderful  charm  of  manner  that 
had  been  St.  Alais's  even  in  boyhood. 

"Twelve  years  ago,"  I  said. 

"  Kven  so,  monsieur,"  he  replied,  with  a  laughing  bow.  "  In 
those  days  there  was  a  small  boy  with  bare  legs,  who  ran  after 
me,  and  called  me  Victor,  and  thought  me  the  greatest  of  men. 
I  little  <lreamed  that  lie  would  ever  live  to  expound  the  rights 
of  man  (<»  me.  And,  I>im.'  Yienmtr,  I  must  keep  Louis  from 
yon,  or  yon  will  make  him  as  great  a  reformer  as  yourself. 
llnwevcr,"  he  continued,  passing  from  that  subject  with  a  smile 
and  an  easy  gesture,  "  T  did  not  come  here  to  talk  of  him,  but 
of  one,  M.  le  Vicomte,  in  whom  you  should  feel  even  greater 
interest." 

I  felt  the  blood  mount  to  my  temples  again,  but  for  a  differ- 
ent reason.  "  Mademoiselle  has  eome  home  ?"  I  said. 

••  Yesterday,"  he  answered.  "She  will  go  with  my  mother  to 
Cahors  to-morrow,  and  take  her  first  peep  at  the  world.  I  <!<• 
not  doubt  that  among  the  many  new  things  she  will  see,  none 
will  interest  her  more  than  the  VicovtC  de  Saux." 


"  '  WHAT  HATE  YOU  DONE  WITH  THE  GARDEN  ?'  HE  ASKED " 


THE    MARQUIS    DE    ST.  ALAIS  ft 

"  Mademoiselle  is  well  ?"  I  said,  clumsily. 

"  Perfectly,"  he  answered,  with  grave  politeness,  "  as  you 
will  see  for  yourself  to-morrow  evening,  if  we  do  not  meet  on 
the  road.  I  dare  say  that  you  will  like  a  week  or  so  to  commend 
yourself  to  her,  M.  le  Vicomte?  And  after  that,  whenever 
Madame  la  Marquise  and  you  can  settle  the  date,  and  so  forth, 
the  match  had  better  come  off — while  I  am  here." 

I  bowed.  I  had  been  expecting  to  hear  this  for  a  week  past ; 
but  from  Louis,  who  was  on  brotherly  terms  with  me,  not  from 
Victor.  The  latter  had  indeed  been  my  boyish  idol ;  but  that 
was  years  ago,  before  court  life  and  a  long  stay  at  Versailles 
and  St.  Cloud  had  changed  him  into  the  splendid-looking  man 
I  saw  before  me,  the  raillery  of  whose  eye  I  found  it  as  difficult 
to  meet  as  I  found  it  difficult  to  match  the  aplomb  of  his  man- 
ner. Still,  I  strove  to  make  such  acknowledgments  as  became 
me,  and  to  adopt  that  nice  mixture  of  self-respect,  politeness, 
and  devotion  which  I  knew  that  the  occasion,  formally  treated, 
required.  But  my  tongue  stumbled,  and  in  a  moment  he  re- 
lieved me. 

"  Well,  you  must  tell  that  to  Denise,"  he  said,  pleasantly ; 
"  doubtless  you  will  find  her  a  patient  listener.  At  first,  of 
course,"  he  continued,  pulling  on  his  gauntlets,  and  smiling 
faintly,  "she  will  be  a  little  shy.  I  have  no  doubt  that  the 
good  sisters  have  brought  her  up  to  regard  a  man  in  much  the 
same  light  as  a  wolf,  and  a  suitor  as  something  worse.  But,  eh 
bien,  mon  ami!  women  are  women,  after  all,  and  in  a  week  or 
two  you  will  commend  yourself.  We  may  hope,  then,  to  see 
you  to-morrow  evening — if  not  before?" 

"  Most  certainly,  M.  le  Marquis." 

"  Why  not  Victor  ?"  he  answered,  laying  his  hand  on  my 
arm,  with  a  touch  of  the  old  bonhomie.  "  We  shall  soon  be 
brothers,  and  then,  doubtless,  shall  hate  one  another.  In  the 
meantime,  give  me  your  company  to  the  gates.  There  was  one 
other  thing  I  wanted  to  name  to  you.  Let  me  see — what  was 
it?" 

But  either  he  could  not  immediately  remember,  or  he  found 
a  difficulty  in  introducing  the  subject,  for  we  were  nearly  half- 
way down  the  avenue  of  walnut-trees  that  leads  to  the  village 


0  THE    RED    COCKADE 

when  lie  spoke  again.  Then  he  plunged  into  the  matter  ab- 
ruptly. 

••  You  have  heard  of  this  protest?"  he  said. 

"Yes,"  I  answered,  reluctantly,  and  with  a  foresight  of 
trouble. 

"  You  will  sign  it,  of  course  V 

Tie  had  hesitated  before  he  asked  the  question  ;  I  hesitated 
before  I  answered  it.  The  protest  to  which  he  referred — how 
formal  the  phrase  now  sounds,  though  we  know  that  under  it 
lay  the  beginning  of  trouble  and  a  new  world — was  one  which 
it  was  proposed  to  move  in  the  coming  meeting  of  the  nol>|. 
at  Cahors  ;  its  aim,  to  condemn  the  conduct  of  our  representa- 
tives at  Versailles,  iu  consenting  to  sit  with  the  Third  Estate. 

Now,  for  myself,  whatever  had  been  my  original  views  on 
this  question — and,  as  a  fact,  I  should  have  preferred  to  see  re- 
form following  the  English  model,  the  nobles'  house  remain- 
ing separate — I  regarded  the  step,  now  it  was  taken,  and  legal- 
ized by  the  King,  as  irrevocable,  and  protest  as  useless.  More, 

1  could  not  help  knowing  that  those  who  were  moving  the  pro- 
test desired  also  to  refuse  all  reform,  to  cling  to  all  privil. •_ 

to  hulk  all  hopes  of  better  government;  hopes  which  had  been 
rising  higher,  day  by  day,  since  the  elections,  and  which  it 
might  not  now  be  so  safe  or  so  easy  to  balk.  Without  swal- 
lowing convictions,  therefore,  which  were  pretty  well  known,  I 
could  not  see  my  way  to  supporting  it,  and  1  hesitated. 

"  Well?"  he  said,  at  last,  finding  me  still  silent. 

"  I  do  not  think  that  I  can,"  I  answered,  Hushing. 

"Can  support  it?" 
\  .,"  I  said. 

He  laughed  genially.  "  1'ooh  !"  lie  said.  "  I  think  that  v<>u 
will.  I  want  your  promise,  Vicomte.  It  is  a  small  matter ;  a 
trifle,  and  of  no  importance  ;  but  we  must  be  unanimous.  That 
is  the  one  thing  necessary." 

I  shook  my  head.  We  had  both  come  to  a  halt  under  the 
trees,  a  little  within  the  gates.  His  servant  was  leading  the 
horses  up  and  down  the  road. 

"Come,"  he  persisted,  pleasantly;  "you  do  not  think  that 
anything  is  going  to  come  of  this  chaotic  States-General,  whi<-h 


THE    MARQUIS    DE    ST.   ALAIS  7 

His  Majesty  was  mad  enough  to  let  Neckar  summon  ?  They 
met  on  the  4th  of  May  ;  this  is  the  17th  of  July  ;  and  to  this 
day  they  have  done  nothing  but  wrangle  !  Nothing !  Pres- 
ently they  will  be  dismissed,  and  there  will  be  an  end  of  it!" 

"  Why  protest,  then  ?"  I  said,  rather  feebly. 

"  I  will  tell  you,  my  friend,"  he  answered,  smiling  indulgent- 
ly, and  tapping  his  boot  with  his  whip.  "  Have  you  heard  the 
latest  news  ?" 

"  What  is  it  ?"  I  replied,  cautiously.  "  Then  I  will  tell  you 
if  I  have  heard  it." 

"  The  King  has  dismissed  Neckar  !" 

"  No  !"  I  cried,  unable  to  hide  my  surprise. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered ;  "  the  banker  is  dismissed.  In  a  week 
his  States-General  or  National  Assembly,  or  whatever  he  pleases 
to  call  it,  will  go  too,  and  we  shall  be  where  we  were  before. 
Only,  in  the  meantime,  and  to  strengthen  the  King  in  the  wise 
course  he  is  at  last  pursuing,  we  must  show  that  we  are  alive. 
We  must  show  our  sympathy  with  him.  We  must  act.  We 
must  protest." 

"  But,  M.  le  Marquis,"  I  said,  a  little  heated,  perhaps,  by  the 
news,  "are  you  sure  that  the  people  will  quietly  endure  this? 
Never  was  so  bitter  a  winter  as  last  winter ;  never  a  worse  har- 
vest, or  such  pinching.  On  the  top  of  these,  their  hope's  have 
been  raised,  and  their  minds  excited  by  the  elections,  and — " 

"  Whom  have  we  to  thank  for  that?"  he  said,  with  a  whim- 
sical glance  at  me.  "But,  never  fear,  Vicomte ;  they  will  en- 
dure it.  I  know  Paris ;  and  I  can  assure  you  that  it  is  not  the 
Paris  of  the  Fronde,  though  M.  de  Mirabeau  would  play  the 
Retz.  It  is  a  peaceable,  sensible  Paris,  and  it  will  not  rise. 
Except  a  bread  riot  or  two,  it  has  seen  no  rising  to  speak  of 
for  a  century  and  a  half — nothing  that  two  companies  of  Swiss 
could  not  deal  with  as  easily  as  D'Argenson  cleared  the  Cotir 
des  Miracles.  Believe  me,  there  is  no  danger  of  that  kind; 
with  the  least  management,  all  will  go  well  !" 

But  this  news  had  roused  my  antagonism.  I  found  it  more 
easy  to  resist  him  now. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  I  said,  coldly  ;  "  I  do  not  think  that  the 
matter  is  so  simple  as  you  say.  The  King  must  have  money, 


8  THE    RED    COCKADE 

or  be  bankrupt;  the  people  have  no  money  to  pay  him.  I  <\» 
not  see  how  things  can  go  back  to  the  old  state." 

M.  de  St.  Alais  looked  at  me,  with  a  gleam  of  anger  in  his 
eyes. 

"You  mean,  Vicomte,"  he  said,  "that  you  do  not  wish  them 
to  go  back  ?" 

"I  mean  that  the  old  state  was  impossible,"  I  said,  stilllv. 
"  It  could  not  last.  It  cannot  return." 

For  a  moment  he  did  not  answer,  and  we  stood  confronting 
one  another — he  just  without,  I  just  within,  the  gateway — the 
cool  foliage  stretching  over  us,  the  dust  and  July  sunshine  in  the 
road  beyond  him ;  and  if  my  face  reflected  his,  it  was  flushed 
and  set  and  determined.  But  in  a  twinkling  his  changed ;  he 
broke  into  an  easy,  polite  laugh,  and  shrugged  his  shoulders  with 
a  touch  of  contempt. 

••  Well,"  he  said,  "we  will  not  argue;  but  I  hope  that  you 
will  sign.  Think  it  over,  M.  le  Vicomte,  think  it  over.  Be- 
cause " — he  paused,  and  looked  at  me  gayly — "  we  do  not  know 
what  may  be  depending  upon  it." 

"  That  is  a  reason,"  I  answered,  quickly,  "  for  thinking  more 
before  I—" 

"It  is  a  reason  for  thinking  more  before  you  refuse,"  he  said, 
bowing  very  low,  and  this  time  without  smiling.  Then  lie 
turned  to  his  horse,  and  his  servant  held  the  stirrup  while  he 
mounted.  When  he  was  in  the  saddle,  and  had  gathered  up  the 
reins,  he  bent  his  face  to  mine. 

"  Of  course,"  he  said,  speaking  in  a  low  voice,  and  with  a 
searching  look  at  me,  "  a  contract  is  a  contract,  M.  le  Vicomte  ; 
and  the  Montagues  and  Capulets,  like  your  carcan,  are  out  of 
date.  But,  all  the  same,  we  must  go  one  way — comprenez  vous, 
we  must  go  one  way — or  separate  !  At  least,  I  think  so." 

And,  nodding  pleasantly,  as  if  he  had  uttered  in  these  words 
a  compliment  instead  of  a  threat,  he  rode  off,  leaving  me  to 
stand  and  fret  and  fume,  and  finally  to  stride  back  under  the 
trees  with  my  thoughts  in  a  whirl,  and  all  my  plans  and  hopes 
jarring  one  another  in  a  petty  copy  of  the  confusion  that  that 
•  lay  prevailed,  though  I  guessed  it  but  dimly,  from  one  end  of 
B  to  the  other. 


THE    MARQUIS    DE    ST.   ALAIS  9 

For  I  could  not  be  blind  to  his  meaning;  nor  ignorant  that  he 
had,  no  matter  how  politely,  bidden  me  choose  between  the 
alliance  with  his  family,  which  my  father  had  arranged  for  me, 
and  the  political  views  in  which  my  father  had  brought  me  up, 
and  which  a  year's  residence  in  England  had  not  failed  to 
strengthen.  Alone  in  the  chateau  since  my  father's  death,  I 
had  lived  a  good  deal  in  the  future — in  day-dreams  of  Denise  de 
St.  Alais,  the  fair  girl  who  was  to  be  my  wife,  and  whom  I  had 
not  seen  since  she  went  to  her  convent  school ;  in  day-dreams, 
also,  of  work  to  be  done  in  spreading  round  me  the  prosperity 
I  had  seen  in  England.  Now,  St.  Alais's  words  menaced  one  or 
other  of  these  prospects;  and  that  was  bad  enough.  But,  in 
truth,  it  was  not  that  so  much  as  his  presumption  that  stung 
me ;  that  made  me  swear  one  moment  and  laugh  the  next,  in  a 
kind  of  irritation  not  difficult  to  understand.  I  was  twenty-two, 
he  was  twenty-seven  ;  and  he  dictated  to  me  !  We  were  coun- 
try bumpkins,  he  of  the  haute  politique,  and  he  had  come  from 
Versailles  or  from  Paris  to  drill  us !  If  I  went  his  way  I  might 
marry  his  sister ;  if  not,  I  might  not !  That  was  the  position. 

No  wonder  that  before  he  had  left  me  half  an  hour  I  had 
made  up  my  mind  to  resist  him  ;  and  so  spent  the  rest  of  the 
day  composing  sound  and  unanswerable  reasons  for  the  course 
I  intended  to  take ;  now  conning  over  a  letter  in  which  M.  de 
Liancourt  set  forth  his  plan  of  reform,  now  summarizing  the 
opinions  with  which  M.  de  Rochefoucauld  had  favored  me  on 
his  last  journey  to  Luchon.  In  half  an  hour  and  the  heat  of 
temper  !  thinking  no  more  than  ten  thousand  others,  who  that 
week  chose  one  of  two  courses,  what  I  was  doing.  Gargouf, 
the  St.  Alais  steward,  who  doubtless  heard  that  day  the  news 
of  Neckar's  fall,  and  rejoiced,  had  no  foresight  of  what  it 
meant  to  him.  Father  Benoit,  the  cure,  who  supped  with  me 
that  evening,  and  heard  the  tidings  with  sorrow — he,  too,  had 
no  special  vision.  And  the  innkeeper's  son  at  La  Bastide,  by 
Cahors — probably  he,  also,  heard  the  news  ;  but  no  shadow  of 
a  sceptre  fell  across  his  path,  nor  any  of  a  baton  on  that  of  the 
notary  at  the  other  La  Bastide.  A  notary,  a  baton  !  An  inn- 
keeper, a  sceptre  !  Mon  Dipu  /  what  conjunctions  they  would 
have  seemed  in  those  days !  We  should  have  been  wiser  than 


10  THE    RED    COCKADE 

Daniel,  and  more  prudent  than  Joseph,  if  we  had  foreseen  such 
things  under  the  old  regime — in  the  old  France,  in  the  old 
world,  that  died  in  that  month  of  July,  1789! 

And  yet  there  were  signs,  even  then,  to  be  read  by  those  with 
eyes,  that  foretold  something,  if  but  a  tithe,  of  the  inconceivable 
future  ;  of  which  signs  I  myself  remarked  sufficient  by  the  wav 
next  day  to  fill  my  mind  with  other  thoughts  than  private  re- 
sentment; with  some  nobler  aims  than  self-assertion.  Riding  to 
Cahors,  with  Gil  and  Andre  at  my  back,  I  saw  not  only  the 
havoc  caused  by  the  great  frosts  of  the  winter  and  spring,  not 
only  walnut-trees  blackened  and  withered,  vines  stricken,  rye 
killed,  a  huge  proportion  of  the  land  fallow,  desert,  gloomy,  and 
unsown,  not  only  those  common  signs  of  poverty  to  which  use 
had  accustomed  me — though  on  my  first  return  from  England  I 
had  viewed  them  with  horror — mud  cabins,  I  mean,  and  un- 
glazed  windows,  starved  cattle,  and  women,  bent  double,  gather- 
ing weeds,  but  I  saw  other  things  more  ominous — a  strange 
herding  of  men  at  cross-roads  and  bridges,  where  they  waited 
for  they  knew  not  what;  a  something  lowering  in  these  men's 
silence,  a  something  expectant  in  their  faces ;  worst  of  all,  a 
something  dangerous  in  their  scowling  eyes  and  sunken  cheeks. 
Hunger  had  pinched  them;  the  elections  had  roused  them.  I 
trembled  to  think  of  the  issue,  and  that  in  the  hint  of  danger  I 
had  given  St.  Alais  I  had  been  only  too  near  the  mark. 

A  league  farther  on,  where  the  woodlands  skirt  Cahors,  I  lost 
sight  of  these  things  ;  but  for  a  time  only.  They  reappeared 
presently  in  another  form.  The  first  view  of  the  town,  as,  girt 
by  the  shining  Lot  and  protected  by  ramparts  and  towers,  it 
nestles  under  the  steep  hills,  is  apt  to  take  the  eye,  its  match- 
less bridge  and  time-worn  cathedral  and  great  palace  seldom 
failing  to  rouse  the  admiration  even  of  those  who  know  them 
well.  But  that  day  I  saw  none  of  these  things.  As  I  passed 
down  towards  the  market-place  they  were  selling  grain  under  a 
guard  of  soldiers  with  fixed  bayonets ;  and  the  starved  faces  of 
the  waiting  crowd  that  filled  all  that  side  of  the  square,  their 
shrunken,  half-naked  figures,  and  dark  looks,  and  the  sullen 
mntteiinir,  which  seemed  so  much  at  odds  with  the  sunshine, 
occupied  mi-  to  the  exclusion  of  everything  else. 


ll    SAW    NOT    ONLY    THE    HAVOC    CAUSED    BY    THE    GREAT    FROSTS " 


THE    MARQUIS    DE    ST.   ALAIS  13 

Or  not  quite.  I  had  eyes  for  one  other  thing,  and  that  was 
the  astonishing  indifference  with  which  those  whom  curiosity 
or  business  or  habit  had  brought  to  the  spot  viewed  this  spec- 
tacle. The  inns  were  full  of  the  gentry  of  the  province,  come 
to  the  Assembly ;  they  looked  on  from  the  windows  as  at  a 
show,  and  talked  and  jested  as  if  at  home  in  their  chateaux. 
Before  the  doors  of  the  cathedral  a  group  of  ladies  and  clergy- 
men walked  to  and  fro,  and  now  and  then  they  turned  a  listless 
eye  on  what  was  passing ;  but  for  the  most  part  they  seemed  to 
be  unconscious  of  it,  or,  at  the  best,  to  have  no  concern  with  it. 
I  have  heard  it  said  since  that  in  those  days  we  had  two  worlds 
in  France,  as  far  apart  as  hell  and  heaven  ;  and  what  I  saw  that 
evening  went  far  to  prove  it. 

In  the  square  a  shop  at  which  pamphlets  and  journals  were 
sold  was  full  of  customers,  though  other  shops  in  the  neighbor- 
hood were  closed,  their  owners  fearing  mischief.  On  the  skirts 
of  the  crowd,  and  a  little  aloof  from  it,  I  saw  Gargouf,  the  St. 
Alais  steward.  He  was  talking  to  a  countryman  ;  and,  as  I 
passed,  I  heard  him  say,  with  a  gibe,  "  Well,  has  your  National 
Assembly  fed  you  yet  ?" 

"  Not  yet,"  the  clown  answered,  stupidly,  "  but  I  am  told 
that  in  a  few  days  they  will  satisfy  everybody." 

"  Not  they  !"  the  agent  answered,  brutally.  "  Wrhy,  do  you 
think  that  they  will  feed  you  ?"  » 

"  Oh,  yes,  by  your  leave ;  it  is  certain,"  the  man  said. 
"  And,  besides,  every  one  is  agreed — " 

But  then  Gargouf  saw  me,  saluted  me,  and  I  heard  no  more. 
A  moment  later,  however,  I  came  on  one  of  my  own  people — 
Buton,  the  blacksmith — in  the  middle  of  a  muttering  group.  He 
looked  at  me  sheepishly,  finding  himself  caught ;  and  I  stopped 
and  rated  him  soundly,  and  saw  him  start  for  home  before  I 
went  to  my  quarters. 

These  were  at  the  Trois  Rois,  where  I  always  lay  when  in 
town,  Doury,  the  innkeeper,  providing  a  supper  ordinary  for 
the  gentry  at  eight  o'clock,  at  which  it  was  the  custom  to  dress 
and  powder. 

The  St.  Alais  had  their  own  house  in  Cahors,  and,  as  the 
Marquis  had  forewarned  me,  entertained  that  evening.  The 


14  THE    RED    COCKADE 

greater  part  of  the  company,  indeed,  repaired  to  them  after  the 
meal.  1  went  myself,  a  little  latr,  that  1  might  avoid  any  pri- 
vate talk  with  the  marquis.  I  found  the  rooms  already  full  and 
brilliantly  lighted,  the  staircase  crowded  with  valets,  and  the 
strains  of  a  harpsichord  trickling  melodiously  from  the  windows. 
Madame  de  St.  Alais  was  in  the  habit  of  entertaining  the  best 
company  in  the  province ;  with  less  splendor,  perhaps,  than 
some,  but  with  so  much  ease  and  taste  and  good-breeding  that 
1  look  in  vain  for  such  a  house  in  these  days. 

Ordinarily  she  preferred  to  people  her  rooms  with  pleasant 
groups,  that,  gracefully  disposed,  gave  to  a  salon  an  air  elegant 
and  pleasing,  and  in  character  with  the  costume  of  those  days, 
the  silks  and  laces,  powder  and  diamonds,  the  hoops  and  red- 
heeled  shoes.  But  on  this  occasion  the  crowd  and  the  splendor 
of  the  entertainment  apprised  me,  as  soon  as  I  crossed  the  thresh- 
old, that  1  was  assisting  at  a  party  of  more  than  ordinary  im- 
portance ;  nor  had  I  advanced  far  before  I  guessed  that  it  was  a 
political  rather  than  a  social  gathering.  All,  or  almost  all,  who 
would  attend  the  Assembly  next  day  were  here ;  and  though, 
as  I  wound  my  way  through  the  glittering  crowd,  I  heard  very 
little  serious  talk — so  little  that  I  marvelled  to  think  that  people 
could  discuss  the  respective  merits  of  French  and  Italian  opera, 
of  Gretry  and  Bianchi,  and  the  like,  while  so  much  hung  in  the 
balance — of  the  effect  intended  I  had  no  doubt;  nor  that 
inadame,  in  assembling  all  the  wit  and  beauty  of  the  province, 
was  aiming  at  things  higher  than  amusement. 

With,  I  am  bound  to  confess,  a  degree  of  success.  At  any 
rate,  it  was  difficult  to  mix  with  the  throng  which  filled  her 
rooms,  to  run  the  gantlet  of  bright  eyes  and  witty  tongues,  to 
breathe  the  atmosphere  laden  with  perfume  and  music,  without 
falling  under  the  spell,  without  forgetting.  t  Inside  the  door  M. 
de  Gontaut,  one  of  my  father's  oldest  friends,  was  talking  with 
the  two  JIarincourts.  He  greeted  me  with  a  sly  smile,  and 
pointed  politely  inwards. 

••Pass  on,  monsieur,"  he  said.  "The  farthest  room.  Ah! 
mv  friend,  T  wish  I  were  young  again!" 

"  Your  gain  would  be  my  loss,  M.  le  Baron,"  I  said,  civilly, 
ami  slid  bv  him.  Next,  I  had  to  speak  to  two  or  thre<-  ladies. 


THE    MARQUIS    DE    ST.  ALAIS  15 

who  detained  me  with  wicked  congratulations  of  the  same 
kind ;  and  then  I  came  on  Louis.  He  clasped  my  hand,  and 
we  stood  a  moment  together.  The  crowd  elbowed  us ;  a  sim- 
pering fool  at  his  shoulder  was  prating  of  the  social  contract. 
But  as  I  felt  the  pressure  of  Louis's  hand,  and  looked  into  his 
eyes,  it  seemed  to  me  that  a  breath  of  air  from  the  woods  pene- 
trated the  room  and  swept  aside  the  heavy  perfumes. 

Yet  there  was  trouble  in  his  look.  He  asked  me  if  I  had 
seen  Victor. 

"  Yesterday,"  I  said,  understanding  him  perfectly,  and  what 
was  amiss.  "  Not  to-day." 

"  Nor  Denise  ?" 

"  No.     I  have  not  had  the  honor  of  seeing  mademoiselle." 

"  Then  come,"  he  answered.  "  My  mother  expected  you 
earlier.  .What  did  you  think  of  Victor?" 

"  That  he  went  Victor,  and  has  returned  a  great  personage  !" 
I  said,  smiling. 

Louis  laughed  faintly,  and  lifted  his  eyebrows  with  a  comical 
air  of  sufferance. 

"  I  was  afraid  so,"  he  said.  "  He  did  not  seem  to  be  very 
well  pleased  with  you.  But  we  must  all  do  his  bidding — eh, 
monsieur  ?  And,  in  the  meantime,  come.  My  mother  and  De- 
nise are  in  the  farthest  room." 

He  led  the  way  thither  as  he  spoke ;  but  we  had  first  to  go 
through  the  card-room,  and  then  the  crowd  about  the  farther 
doorway  was  so  dense  that  he  could  not  immediately  enter ;  and 
so  I  had  time — while  outwardly  smiling  and  bowing — to  feel 
a  little  suspense.  At  last  we  slipped  through  and  entered  a 
smaller  room,  where  were  only  Madame  la  Marquise — who  was 
standing  in  the  middle  of  the  floor  talking  with  the  Abbe 
Mesnil — two  or  three  ladies,  and  Denise  de  St.  Alais. 

Mademoiselle  had  her  seat  on  a  couch  by  one  of  the  ladies; 
and  naturally  my  eyes  went  first  to  her.  She  was  dressed  in 
white,  and  it  struck  me  with  the  force  of  a  blow  how  small, 
how  childish  she  was !  Very  fair,  of  the  purest  complexion, 
and  perfectly  formed,  she  seemed  to  derive  an  extravagant,  an 
absurd  air  of  dignity  from  the  formality  of  her  dress,  from 
the  height  of  the  powdered  hair  that  strained  upward  from  her 


1C  TIIK     IJK1)    COCKADE 

forehead,  from  the  stiffness  of  her  brocaded  petticoat.  But  she 
was  very  small.  I  had  time  to  note  this,  to  feel  a  little  disap- 
pointment, and  to  fancy  that,  cast  in  a  larger  mould,  she  would 
have  been  supremely  handsome  ;  and  then  the  lady  beside  her, 
seeing  me,  spoke  to  her,  and  the  child — she  was  really  little 
more — looked  up,  her  face  grown  crimson.  Our  eyes  met — 
thank  God!  she  had  Louis's  eyes — and  she  looked  down  again, 
blushing  painfully. 

I  advanced  to  pay  my  respects  to  madame,  and  kissed  the 
hand  which,  without  at  once  breaking  off  her  conversation,  she 
extended  to  me. 

"  But  such  powers !"  the  abbe,  who  had  something  of  the 
reputation  of  a  philosophe,  was  saying  to  her.  "  Without  limit  ! 
Without  check  !  Misused,  madame — " 

"But  the  King  is  too  good!"  Madame  la  Marquise  answered, 
smiling. 

"  When  well  advised,  I  agree.     But  then  the  deficit  ?" 

The  marquise  shrugged  her  shoulders.  **  His  Majesty  must 
Lave  money,"  she  said. 

"Yes  —  but  whence?"  the  abb6  asked,  with  an  answering 
ihrog. 

14  The  King  was  too  good  at  the  beginning,"  madame  replied, 
with  a  touch  of  severity.  "  He  should  have  made  them  register 
the  edicts.  However,  the  Parliament  has  always  given  way, 
and  will  do  so  again." 

"The  Parliament — yes,"  the  abbe  retorted,  smiling  indul- 
gently. "  But  it  is  no  longer  a  question  of  the  Parliament ; 
and  the  States-General — " 

"  States  -  General  pass,"  madame  responded,  grandly.  "The 
King  remains !" 

••  Vet  if  trouble  comes?" 

"  It  will  not,"  madame  answered,  with  the  same  grand  air. 
"  Mis  Majesty  will  prevent  it."  And  then  with  a  word  or  two 
more  she  dismissed  the  abb6  and  turned  to  me.  She  tapped 
me  on  the  shoulder  with  her  fan.  "  Ah  !  truant,"  she  said,  with 
a  glanee.  in  which  kindness  and  a  little  austerity  were  mingled. 
"I  do  not  know  what  I  am  to  say  to  you!  Indeed,  from  the 
account  Victor  gave  me  yesterday,  I  hardly  knew  whether  to 


THE    MARQUIS    DE    ST.    ALAIS  17 

expect  you  this  evening  or  not.  Are  you  sure  that  it  is  you 
who  are  here  ?" 

''  I  will  answer  for  my  heart,  rnadame,"  I  answered,  laying 
my  hand  upon  it. 

Her  eyes  twinkled  kindly. 

"Then,"  she  said,  "bring  it  where  it  is  due,  monsieur."  And 
she  turned  with  a  fine  air  of  ceremony,  and  led  me  to  her  daugh- 
ter. "Denise,"  she  said,  "this  is  M.  le  Vicomte  de  Saux,  the 
son  of  my  old,  my  good  friend.  M.  le  Vicomte  —  my  daugh- 
ter. Perhaps  you  will  amuse  her  while  I  go  back  to  the 
abbe." 

Probably  mademoiselle  had  spent  the  evening  in  an  agony  of 
shyness,  expecting  this  moment,  for  she  courtesied  to  the  floor, 
and  then  stood  dumb  and  confused,  forgetting  even  to  sit  down, 
until  I  covered  her  with  fresh  blushes  by  begging  her  to  do  so. 
When  she  had  complied  I  took  my  stand  before  her  with  my 
hat  in  my  hand  ;  but  between  seeking  for  the  right  compliment, 
and  trying  to  trace  a  likeness  between  her  and  the  wild,  brown- 
faced  child  of  thirteen  whom  I  had  known  four  years  before — 
and  from  the  dignified  height  of  nineteen  immeasurably  despised 
— I  grew  shy  myself. 

"  You  came  home  last  week,  mademoiselle  ?"  I  said  at  last. 

"  Yes,  monsieur,"  she  answered,  in  a  whisper,  and  with  down- 
cast eyes. 

"  It  must  be  a  great  change  for  you  !" 

"  Yes,  monsieur." 

Silence  :  then,  "  Doubtless  the  Sisters  were  good  to  you  ?"  I 
suggested. 

"  Yes,  monsieur." 

"  Yet,  you  were  not  sorry  to  leave  ?" 

"  Yes,  monsieur." 

But  on  that  the  meaning  of  what  she  had  last  said  came 

O 

home  to  her,  or  she  felt  the  banality  of  her  answers ;  for,  on  a 
sudden,  she  looked  swiftly  up  at  me,  her  face  scarlet,  and  if  I 
was  not  mistaken  she  was  within  a  little  of  bursting  into  tears. 
The  thought  appalled  me.  I  stooped  lower. 

"  Mademoiselle  !"  I  said,  hurriedly,  "  pray  do  not  be  afraid  of 
me.  Whatever  happens,  you  shall  never  have  need  to  fear  me. 


18  TIIK     RED    COCKAliK 

I  beg  of  you  to  look  on  me  as  a  friend — as  your  brother's  friend. 
Louis  is  my — " 

Crash  !  While  the  name  hung  on  my  lips  something  struck 
me  in  the  back,  and  I  staggered  forward,  almost  into  her  arms, 
amid  a  shiver  of  broken  glass,  a  flickering  of  lights,  a  rising 
chorus  of  screams  and  cries.  For  a  moment  I  could  not  think 
what  was  happening,  or  had  happened;  the  blow  had  taken 
away  ray  breath.  I  was  conscious  only  of  mademoiselle  cling- 
ing terrified  to  my  arm,  of  her  face,  wild  with  fright,  looking  up 
to  me,  of  the  sudden  cessation  of  the  music.  Then,  as  people 
pressed  in  on  us,  and  I  began  to  recover,  I  turned  and  saw  that 
the  window  behind  me  had  been  driven  in,  and  the  lead  and 
panes  shattered ;  and  that  among  the  debris  on  the  floor  lay  a 
great  stone.  It  was  that  which  had  struck  me. 


CHAPTER  II 
THE     ORDEAL 

IT  was  wonderful  how  quickly  the  room  filled — filled  with 
angry  faces,  so  that  almost  before  I  knew  what  had  happened 
I  found  a  crowd  round  me  asking  what  it  was,  M.  de  St.  Alais 
foremost.  As  all  spoke  at  once,  and  in  the  background,  where 
they  could  not  see,  ladies  were  screaming  and  chattering,  I  might 
have  found  it  difficult  to  explain.  But  the  shattered  window  and 
the  great  stone  on  the  floor  spoke  for  themselves,  and  told  more 
quickly  than  I  could  what  had  taken  place. 

On  the  instant,  with  a  speed  which  surprised  me,  the  sight 
blew  into  a  flame  passions  already  smouldering.  A  dozen  voices 
cried,  "  Out  on  the  canaille  !"  In  a  moment  some  one  in  the 
background  followed  this  up  with  "  Swords,  messieurs,  swords  !" 
Then  in  a  trice  half  the  gentlemen  were  elbowing  one  another 
towards  the  door,  St.  Alais,  who  burned  to  avenge  the  insult 
offered  to  his  guests,  taking  the  lead.  M.  de  Gontaut  and  one 
or  two  of  the  elders  tried  to  restrain  him,  but  their  remonstrances 
were  in  vain,  and  in  a  moment  the  room  was  almost  emptied  of 
men.  They  poured  out  into  the  street,  and  began  to  scour  it 
with  drawn  blades  and  raised  voices.  A  dozen  valets,  running 
out  officiously  with  flambeaux,  aided  in  the  search;  for  a  few 
minutes  the  street,  as  we  who  remained  viewed  it  from  the  win- 
dows, seemed  to  be  alive  with  moving  lights  and  figures. 

But  the  rascals  who  had  flung  the  stone,  whatever  the  motive 
which  inspired  them,  had  fled  in  time ;  and  presently  our  party 
returned,  some  a  little  ashamed  of  their  violence,  others  laugh- 
ing as  they  entered,  and  bewailing  their  silk  stockings  and  be- 
spattered shoes ;  while  a  few,  less  fashionable  or  more  impetu- 
ous, continued  to  denounce  the  insult  and  threaten  vengeance. 


20  THE  RED  COCKADE 

At  another  time  the  act  might  have  seemed  trivial,  a  childish 
insult;  but  in  the  strained  state  of  public  feeling  it  had  an 
unpleasant  and  menacing  air  which  was  not  lost  on  the  more 
thoughtful.  During  the  absence  of  the  street  party,  the  draught 
from  the  broken  window  had  blown  a  curtain  against  some  can- 
dles and  set  it  alight ;  and  though  the  stuff  had  been  torn  down 
with  little  damage,  it  still  smoked  among  the  debris  on  the  floor. 
This,  with  the  startled  faces  of  the  ladies  and  the  shatter. -<l 
glass,  gave  a  look  of  disorder  and  ruin  to  the  room,  where  a 
few  minutes  before  all  had  worn  so  seemly  and  festive  an  air. 

It  did  not  surprise  me,  therefore,  that  St.  Alais's  face,  stern 
enough  at  his  entrance,  grew  darker  as  he  looked  round. 

"  Where  is  my  sister  ?"  he  said,  abruptly,  almost  rudely. 

"  Here,"  Madame  la  Marquise  answered.  Denise  had  flown 
long  before  to  her  side,  and  was  clinging  to  her. 

"  She  is  not  hurt  ?" 

••  No,"  madame  answered,  playfully  tapping  the  girl's  cheek. 
"  M.  de  Saux  had  most  reason  to  complain." 

"  Save  me  from  my  friends,  eh,  monsieur  .'"  St.  Alais  said,  with 
an  unpleasant  smile. 

I  >tarted.  The  words  were  not  much  in  themselves,  but  the 
surer  underlying  them  was  plain.  I  could  scarcelv  pass  it  bv. 
"If  you  think,  M.  le  Manjuis,"  I  said,  sharply,  "that  I  knew 
anything  of  this  outrage — " 

"That  you  knew  anything?  Mn /<>/,  no!"  he  replied,  lightly, 
and  with  a  eourtlv  gesture  of  deprecation.  "  We  have  not  fallen 
to  that  yet.  That  any  gentleman  in  this  company  should  sink 
to  play  the  fellow  to  those — is  not  possible!  But  I  think  \\  .• 
may  draw  a  useful  lesson  from  this,  messieurs,"  he  continued, 
turning  from  me  and  addressing  the  company,  "and  that 
lesson  to  hold  our  own,  or  we  shall  soon  lose  all." 

A  hum  of  approbation  ran  round  the  room. 

-To  maintain  privileges,  or  we  shall  lose  rights." 

Twenty  voices  were  raised  in  assent. 

"  To  stand  now,"  he  continued,  his  color  high,  his  hand  t 
"or  never  '." 

"Then  now  !      N'.-vs  '." 

The   cry   rose   suddenly,  not   from   one,  but  from   a  hundred 


'THE  STREET  SEEMED  TO  BE  ALIVE  WITH  MOVING  LIGHTS  AND  FIGURES' 


THE    ORDEAL  23 

throats — of  men  and  women  ;  in  a  moment  the  room,  catching 
his,  seemed  to  throb  with  enthusiasm,  with  the  pulse  of  resolve. 
Men's  eyes  grew  bright  under  the  candles,  they  breathed  quickly 
and  with  heightened  color.  Even  the  weakest  felt  the  influence; 
the  fool  who  had  prated  of  the  social  contract  and  the  rights 
of  man  was  as  loud  as  any.  "  Now  !  Now  !"  they  cried,  with 
one  voice. 

What  followed  on  that  I  have  never  completely  fathomed ; 
nor  whether  it  was  a  thing  arranged,  or  merely  an  inspiration 
born  of  the  common  enthusiasm.  But  while  the  windows  still 
shook  with  that  shout,  and  every  eye  was  on  him,  M.  de  St. 
Alais  stepped  forward,  the  most  gallant  and  perfect  figure,  and 
with  a  splendid  gesture  drew  his  sword. 

"  Gentlemen  !"  he  cried,  "  we  are  of  one  mind,  of  one  voice. 
Let  us  be  also  in  the  fashion.  If,  while  all  the  world  is  fighting 
to  get  and  hold,  we  alone  stand  still  and  on  the  defensive,  we 
court  attack,  and,  what  is  worse,  defeat !  Let  us  unite,  then, 
while  it  is  still  time,  and  show  that,  in  Quercy  at  least,  our  order 
will  stand  or  fall  together.  You  have  heard  of  the  oath  of  the 
Tennis  Court  and  the  20th  of  Jane.  Let  us,  too,  take  an  oath — 
this  22d  of  July ;  not  with  uplifted  hands,  like  a  club  of  wordy 
debaters,  promising  all  things  to  all  men,  but  with  uplifted 
swords.  As  nobles  and  gentlemen  let  us  swear  to  stand  by  the 
rights,  the  privileges,  and  the  exemptions  of  our  order !" 

A  shout  that  made  the  candles  flicker  and  jump,  that  filled  the 
street,  and  was  heard  even  in  the  distant  market-place,  greeted 
the  proposal.  Some  drew  their  swords  at  once,  and  flourished 
them  above  their  heads,  while  ladies  waved  their  fans  or  ker- 
chiefs. But  the  majority  cried,  "To  the  larger  room !  To  the 
larger  room  !"  And  on  the  instant,  as  if  in  obedience  to  an  order, 
the  company  turned  that  way,  and,  flushed  and  eager,  pressed 
through  the  narrow  doorway  into  the  next  room. 

There  may  have  been  some  among  them  less  enthusiastic  than 
others ;  some  more  earnest  in  show  than  at  heart ;  none,  I  am 
sure,  who,  on  this,  followed  so  slowly,  so  reluctantly,  with  so 
heavy  a  heart  and  sure  a  presage  of  evil,  as  I  did.  Already  I 
foresaw  the  dilemma  before  me;  but  angry,  hot-faced,  and  un- 
certain, I  could  discern  no  way  out  of  it. 


~2  \  TIIK     KEU     C-OTKADK 

If  I  could  have  escaped  and  slipped  clear  from  the  room,  I 
would  have  done  so  without  scruple;  but  the  stairs  were  on  the 
farther  side  of  the  great  room  which  we  were  entering,  and  a 
dense  crowd  cut  me  off  from  them  :  moreover,  I  felt  that  St. 
Alais's  eye  was  upon  me,  and  that,  if  he  had  not  framed  the 
ordeal  to  meet  my  case  and  extort  my  support,  he  was  at  i 
determined,  now  that  his  blood  was  fired,  that  I  should  not 
evade  it. 

Still  I  would  not  hasten  the  evil  day,  and  lingered  near  the 
inner  door,  hoping;  but  the  marquis,  on  reaching  the  middle  of 
the  room,  mounted  a  chair,  and  turned  round,  and  so  contrived 
still  to  face  me.  The  mob  of  gentlemen  formed  themselves 
round  him,  the  younger  and  more  tumultuous  uttering  cries  of 
"  Vive  la  noblesse  !"  And  a  fringe  of  ladies  encircled  all. 
The  lights,  the  brilliant  dresses  and  jewels  on  which  they  shone, 
the  impassioned  faces,  the  waving  kerchiefs  and  bright  t 
rendered  the  scene  one  to  be  remembered;  though  at  the  mo- 
ment I  was  conscious  only  of  St.  Alais's  ga/e. 

"  Messieurs,"  he  cried,  "  draw  your  swords,  if  you  please  !" 

They  flashed  out  at  the  word,  with  a  steely  glitter  which 
the  mirrors  reflected;  and  M.  de  St.  Alais  passed  his  eye  slowly 
round,  while  all  waited  for  the  word.  He  stopped  ;  his  eye  \\as 
on  me. 

••  M.  ile  Saux,"  he  said,  politelv,  "  we  are  waiting  for  you." 

Naturally  all  turned  to  me.  I  strove  to  mutter  something, 
and  signed  to  him  with  my  hand  to  go  on.  Hut  1  was  too  much 
confused  to  speak  clearly;  my  only  hope  was  that  he  would 
comply,  out  of  prudence. 

Hut,  that  was  the  last  thing  he  thought  of  d«>ing.  "  Will  you 
take  your  place,  monsieur.'"  he  said,  smoothly. 

Then  I  could  escape  no  longer.  A  bundled  eyes,  smiie  impa- 
tient, some  merely  curious,  rested  »\\  me.  My  face  burned. 

"  I  cannot  do  SM."  I  angered. 

Tlnre  fell  a  great  silence  from  "lie  end  of  the  room  to  the 
other. 

"  \Vhy  not,  monsieur,  if  I  mav  ask  .'"  St.  Alais  said,  still 
smoothly. 

"Because  I  am  not — entirely  at  one  with  you,"  I  stami: 


"  '  M.  DE   SAUX,'  HE   SAID,  POLITELY,  '  WE   ARE    WAITING   FOR  YOU ! 


THE    ORDEAL  27 

meeting  all  eyes  ae  bravely  as  I  could.  "  My  opinions  are 
known,  M.  de  St.  Alais,"  I  went  on,  more  steadfastly.  "  I  can- 
not swear." 

He  stayed  with  his  hand  a  dozen  who  would  have  cried  out 
upon  me. 

"Gently,  messieurs,"  he  said,  with  a  gesture  of  dignity, 
"  gently,  if  you  please.  This  is  no  place  for  threats.  M.  de 
Saux  is  my  guest ;  and  I  have  too  great  a  respect  for  him  not 
to  respect  his  scruples.  But  I  think  that  there  is  another  way. 
1  shall  not  venture  to  argue  with  him  myself.  But,  madame," 
he  continued,  smiling  as  he  turned  with  an  inimitable  air  to  his 
mother,  "  I  think  that  if  you  would  permit  Mademoiselle  de  St. 
Alais  to  play  the  recruiting  sergeant — for  this  one  time — she 
could  not  fail  to  heal  the  breach." 

A  murmur  of  laughter  and  subdued  applause,  a  flutter  of  fans 
and  women's  eyes,  greeted  the  proposal.  But  for  a  moment 
Madame  la  Marquise,  smiling  and  sphinx-like,  stood  still,  and 
did  not  speak.  Then  she  turned  to  her  daughter,  who,  at  the 
mention  of  her  name,  had  cowered  back,  shrinking  from  sight. 

"  Go,  Denise,"  she  said,  simply.  "  Ask  M.  de  Saux  to  honor 
you  by  becoming  your  recruit." 

The  girl  came  forward  slowly,  and  with  a  visible  tremor  ;  nor 
shall  I  ever  forget  the  misery  of  that  moment,  or  the  shame  and 
obstinacy  that  alternately  surged  through  my  brain  as  I  awaited 
her.  Thought,  quicker  than  lightning,  showed  me  the  trap  into 
which  I  had  fallen — a  trap  far  more  horrible  than  the  dilemma 
I  had  foreseen.  Nor  was  the  poor  girl  herself,  as  she  stood  be- 
fore me  tortured  by  shyness  and  stammering  her  little  petition 
in  words  barely  intelligible,  the  least  part  of  my  pain. 

For  to  refuse  her,  in  face  of  all  these  people,  seemed  a  thing 
impossible.  It  seemed  a  thing  as  brutal  as  to  strike  her;  an 
act  as  cruel,  as  churlish,  as  unworthy  of  a  gentleman  as  to  tram- 
ple any  helpless  sensitive  thing  under  foot!  And  I  felt  that; 
I  felt  it  to  the  utmost.  But  I  felt  also  that  to  assent  was  to 
turn  my  back  on  consistency  and  my  life;  to  consent  to  be  a 
dupe,  the  victim  of  a  ruse ;  to  be  a  coward,  though  every  one 
there  might  applaud  me.  I  saw  both  these  things,  and  for  a 
moment  I  hesitated  between  rage  and  pity  ;  while  lights  and 


28  THE   RED  COCKADE 

fair  faces,  inquisitive  or  scornful,  shifted  mazily  before  my  eves. 
At  last — 

"  Mademoiselle,  I  cannot,"  I  muttered.     "  I  cannot." 

••  Monsieur!" 

It  was  not  the  girl's  word,  but  madamc's,  and  it  rang  high 
and  sharp  through  the  room,  so  that  I  thanked  God  for  the 
intervention.  It  cleared  in  a  moment  the  confusion  from  my 
brain.  I  became  myself.  I  turned  to  her ;  I  bowed. 

"  Xo,  madame,  I  cannot,"  I  said,  firmly,  doubting  no  longer, 
but  stubborn,  defiant,  resolute.  "My  opinions  are  known. 
And  I  will  not,  even  for  mademoiselle's  sake,  give  the  lie  to 
them." 

As  the  last  word  fell  from  my  lips,  a  glove,  flung  by  an  un- 
seen hand,  struck  me  on  the  cheek ;  and  then  for  a  moment  the 
room  seemed  to  go  mad.  Amid  a  storm  of  hisses,  of  "  Yan- 
ricn  !"  and  "A  bas  le  traitre  !"  a  dozen  blades  were  brandished 
in  my  face,  a  dozen  challenges  were  flung  at  my  head.  I  had 
not  learned  at  that  time  how  excitable  is  a  crowd,  how  much 
less  merciful  than  any  member  of  it ;  and,  surprised  and  deaf- 
ened by  the  tumult,  which  the  shrieks  of  the  ladies  did  not  tend 
to  diminish,  I  recoiled  a  pace. 

M.  de  St.  Alais  took  advantage  of  the  moment.  He  sprang 
down,  and  thrusting  aside  the  blades  which  threatened  me,  flung 
himself  in  front  of  me. 

••  M.-s*ieurs,  listen  !"  he  cried,  above  the  uproar.  "  Listen,  I 
beg !  This  gentleman  is  my  guest.  He  is  no  longer  of  us,  but 
he  must  go  unharmed.  A  way!  A  way,  if  you  please,  for  M. 
le.  Vieomte  de  Saux." 

They  obeyed  him  reluctantly,  ami,  falling  bai-k  to  one  side  or 
the  other,  opened  a  way  across  the  room  to  the  door.  He  turned 
to  me,  and  bowed  low — his  courtliest  bow. 

"This  way,  Monsieur  le  Vicomte,  if  you  please,"  he  said. 
'•  Madame  la  Marquise  will  not  trespass  on  your  time  anv 
longer." 

I  followed  him  with  a  burning  face  down  the  narrow  lane 
of  shining  parquet,  under  the  chandelier,  between  tlic  lines  of 
morkinir  eyes;  ami  tiot  a  man  interposed.  In  dead  silence  I 
followed  him  to  the  door.  There  he  stood  aside,  and  bowed 


THE    ORDEAL  29 

to  me,  and  I  to  him,  and  I  walked  out  mechanically — walked 
out  alone. 

I  passed  through  the  lobby.  The  crowd  of  peeping,  grinning 
lackeys  that  filled  it  stared  at  me,  all  eyes ;  but  I  was  scarce- 
ly conscious  of  their  impertinence  or  their  presence.  Until  I 
reached  the  street  and  the  cold  air  revived  me,  I  went  like  a 
man  stunned  and  unable  to  think.  The  blow  had  fallen  on  me 
so  suddenly,  so  unexpectedly. 

When  I  did  come  a  little  to  myself,  my  first  feeling  was  rage. 
I  had  gone  into  M.  de  St.  Alais's  house  that  evening  possess- 
ing everything ;  I  came  out  stripped  of  friends,  reputation,  my 
betrothed  !  I  had  gone  in  trusting  to  his  friendship,  the  friend- 
ship that  was  a  tradition  in  our  families ;  he  had  worsted  me 
by  a  trick.  I  stood  in  the  street  and  groaned  as  I  thought  of 
it,  as  I  pictured  the  sorry  figure  I  had  cut  among  them,  and 
reflected  on  what  was  before  me. 

For  presently  I  began  to  think  that  I  had  been  a  fool — that 
I  should  have  given  way.  I  could  not,  as  I  stood  in  the  street 
there,  foresee  the  future,  nor  know  for  certain  that  the  old 
France  was  passing,  and  that  even  now,  in  Paris,  its  death-knell 
had  gone  forth.  I  had  to  Jive  by  the  opinions  of  the  people 
round  me ;  to  think,  as  I  paced  the  streets,  how  I  should  face 
the  company  to-morrow,  and  whether  I  should  fly  or  whether  I 
should  fight.  For  in  the  meeting  on  the  morrow — 

Ah  !  the  Assembly.  The  word  turned  my  thoughts  into  a 
new  channel.  I  could  have  my  revenge  there.  That  I  might 
not  raise  a  jarring  note  there  they  had  cajoled  me,  and  when 
cajolery  failed  had  insulted  me.  Well,  I  would  show  them 
that  the  new  way  would  succeed  no  better  than  the  old,  and  that 
where  they  had  thought  to  suppress  a  Saux  they  had  raised  a 
Mirabeau.  From  this  point  I  passed  the  night  in  a  fever.  Re- 
sentment spurred  ambition  ;  rage  against  my  caste,  a  love  of  the 
people.  Every  sign  of  misery  and  famine  that  had  passed  be- 
fore my  eyes  during  the  day  recurred  now,  and  was  garnered 
for  use.  The  early  daylight  found  me  still  pacing  my  room, 
still  thinking,  composing,  reciting ;  when  Andre,  my  old  body- 
servant,  who  had  been  also  my  father's,  came  at  seven,  with  a 
note  in  his  hand,  I  was  still  in  my  clothes. 


30  THE    RED    COCKAHK 

Doubtless  lie  had  heard  down-stairs  a  garbled  account  of  what 
had  occurred,  and  my  cheek  burned.  I  took  no  notice  of  his 
gloomy  looks,  however,  but  without  speaking  I  opened  the  note. 
It  was  not  signed,  but  the  handwriting  was  Louis's. 

"Go  home,"  it  ran,  "and  do  not  show  yourself  at  the  A--<-ni- 
bly.  They  will  challenge  you  one  by  one ;  the  event  is  certain. 
Leave  Cahors  at  once,  or  you  are  a  dead  man." 

That  was  all !  I  smiled  bitterly  at  the  weakness  of  the  man 
who  could  do  no  more  for  his  friend  than  this. 

"  Who  gave  it  to  you  ?"  I  asked  Andre. 

"  A  servant,  monsieur." 

«  Whose  ?" 

But  he  muttered  that  he  did  not  know ;  and  I  did  not  press 
him.  He  assisted  me  to  change  my  dress;  when  I  had  done, 
he  asked  me  at  what  hour  I  needed  the  horses. 

"The  horses!    For  what?"  I  said,  turning  and  staring  at  him. 

"  To  return,  monsieur." 

"  But  I  do  not  return  to-day  !"  I  said,  in  cold  displeasure. 
"  Of  what  are  you  speaking  ?  We  came  only  yesterday." 

"  True,  monsieur,"  he  muttered,  continuing  to  potter  over 
my  dressing  things,  and  keeping  his  back  to  me.  "Still,  it  is 
a  good  day  for  returning." 

"  You  have  been  reading  this  note  !"  I  cried,  wrathfully. 
"  Who  told  you  that—" 

"  All  the  town  knows !"  he  answered,  shrugging  his  shoul- 
ders coolly.  "  It  is,  '  Andre,  take  your  master  home !'  and 
•  Andre,  you  have  a  hot-pate  for  a  master,'  and  Andre  this,  and 
Andre  that,  until  I  am  fairly  muddled !  Gil  has  a  bloody  nose 
tighting  a  Harincourt  lad  that  called  monsieur  a  fool ;  but  for 
me,  I  am  too  old  for  fighting.  And  there  is  one  other  thing  I 
am  too  old  for,"  he  continued,  with  a  sniff. 

"  What  is  that,  impertinent?"  I  cried. 

"  To  bury  another  master." 

I  waited  a  minute.  Then  I  said,  "  You  think  that  I  shall 
be  killed?" 

"  It  is  the  talk  of  the  town  !" 

I  thought  a  moment  Then,  "You  served  my  father,  An- 
dre ?"  I  said. 


THE    ORDEAL  31 

"  Ah  !   monsieur." 

"  Yet  you  would  have  me  run  away  ?" 

He  turned  to  me,  and  flung  up  his  hands  in  despair. 

"  Mon  Dieu  !"  he  cried,  "  I  don't  know  what  I  would  have  ! 
We  are  ruined  by  these  canaille.  As  if  God  made  them  to  do 
anything  but  dig  and  work;  or  we  could  do  without  the  poor. 
If  you  had  never  taken  up  with  them,  monsieur — " 

"  Silence,  man  !"  I  said,  sternly.  "  You  know  nothing  about 
it.  Go  down  now,  and  another  time  be  more  careful.  You 
talk  of  the  canaille  and  the  poor  !  What  are  you  yourself  !" 

"I,  monsieur?"  he  cried,  in  astonishment. 

"  Yes,  you  !" 

He  stared  at  me  a  moment  with  a  face  of  bewilderment. 
Then,  slowly  and  sorrowfully,  he  shook  his  head,  and  went  out. 
He  began  to  think  me  mad. 

When  he  was  gone  I  did  not  at  once  move.  I  fancied  it 
likely  that  if  I  showed  myself  in  the  streets  before  the  Assem- 
bly met  I  should  be  challenged  and  forced  to  fight.  I  waited, 
therefore,  until  the  hour  of  meeting  was  past ;  waited  in  the 
dull  upper  room,  feeling  the  bitterness  of  isolation,  and  think- 
ing, sometimes  of  Louis  St.  Alais,  who  had  let  me  go  and 
spoken  no  word  in  my  behalf,  sometimes  of  men's  unreason- 
ableness ;  for  in  some  of  the  provinces  half  of  the  nobility  were 
of  my  way  of  thinking.  I  thought  of  Saux,  too ;  and  I  will 
not  say  that  I  felt  no  temptation  to  adopt  the  course  which  An- 
dre had  suggested — to  withdraw  quietly  thither,  and  then  at 
some  later  time,  when  men's  minds  were  calmer,  to  vindicate 
my  courage.  But  a  certain  stubbornness,  which  my  father  had 
before  me,  and  which  I  have  heard  people  say  comes  of  an 
English  strain  in  the  race,  conspired  with  resentment  to  keep 
me  in  the  way  I  had  marked  out.  At  a  quarter-past  ten,  there- 
fore, when  I  thought  that  the  last  of  the  members  would  have 
preceded  me  to  the  Assembly,  I  went  down-stairs,  with  hot 
cheeks,  but  eyes  that  were  stern  enough  ;  and  finding  Andre 
and  Gil  waiting  at  the  door,  bade  them  follow  me  to  the  chap- 
ter-house beside  the  cathedral,  where  the  meetings  were  held. 

Afterwards  I  was  told  that,  had  I  used  my  eyes,  I  must  have 
noticed  the  excitement  which  prevailed  in  the  streets ;  the 


THE    RED    COCK  A  I>  K 

crowd,  dense,  yet  silont,  tliat  filled  the  square  ami  all  the 
neighboring  ways  ;  the  air  of  expectancy,  the  closed  shops,  the 
cessation  of  business,  the  whispering  groups  in  alleys  and  at 
doors.  But  I  was  wrapped  up  in  myself,  like  one  going  on  a 
forlorn  hope ;  and  of  all  remarked  only  one  thing — that  as  I 
crossed  the  square  a  man  called  out,  "God  bless  you,  monsieur!" 
and  another,  "  Vive  Saux  !"  and  that  thereon  a  dozen  or  more 
took  off  their  caps.  This  I  did  notice  ;  but  mechanically  only. 
The  next  moment  I  was  in  the  entry  which  leads  alongside  one 
wall  of  the  cathedral  to  the  chapter- house,  and  a  crowd  of 
clerks  and  servants,  who  blocked  it  almost  from  wall  to  wall, 
were  making  way  for  me  to  pass  ;  not  without  looks  of  aston- 
ishment and  curiosity. 

Threading  my  way  through  them,  I  entered  the  empty  resti- 
bule,  kept  clear  by  two  or  three  ushers.  Here  the  change  from 
sunshine  to  shadow,  from  the  life  and  light  and  stir  which  pre- 
vailed outside  to  the  silence  of  this  vaulted  chamber,  was  so 
great  that  it  struck  a  chill  to  my  heart.  Here,  in  the  grayness 
and  stillness,  the  importance  of  the  step  I  was  about  to  take, 
the  madness  of  the  challenge  I  was  about  to  fling  down  in  the 
teeth  of  my  brethren,  rose  before  me ;  and  if  my  mind  had  not 
hern  braced  to  the  utmost  by  resentment  and  obstinacy,  I  must 
have  turned  back.  But  already  my  feet  rang  noisily  on  the 
stone  pavement,  and  forbade  retreat.  I  could  hear  a  monoto- 
in >ns  voiee  droning  in  the  chamber  beyond  the  closed  door; 
and  I  cr^ed  to  the  door,  setting  my  teeth  hard,  and  preparing 
myself  tn  play  the  man,  whatever  awaited  me. 

Another  moment,  and  I  should  have  been  inside.  Mv  hand 
was  already  <>ri  the  latch,  when  sumo  one,  who  had  been  sitting 
on  tin-  sti.ne  bench  in  the  shadow  under  the  window,  sprang 
up,  and  hurried  to  stop  me.  It  was  Louis  de  St.  Alais.  He 
reached  me  before  I  could  open  the  door,  and,  thrusting  himself 
in  front  of  me,  set  his  hark  against  the  panels. 

"Stup,  man!  for  God's  sake,  stop!"  he  cried,  passionately, 
yet  kept,  his  voice  low.  "  What  can  one  do  against  two  hun- 
dred ?  Go  back,  man,  go  back,  and  I  will — " 

"•Yon  will!"  I  answered  with  fierce  contempt,  yet  in  the 
same  low  tone.  The  ushers  were  staring  curiously  at  us  from 


THE    ORDEAL  33 

the  door  by  which  I  had  entered.  "You  will?  You  will  do,  I 
suppose,  as  much  as  you  did  last  night,  monsieur." 

"  Never  mind  that  now  !"  he  answered,  earnestly,  though  he 
winced,  and  the  color  rose  to  his  brow.  "Only  go!  Go  to 
Saux,  and — " 

"  Keep  out  of  the  way  !" 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  and  keep  out  of  the  way.  If  you  will  do 
that—" 

"  Keep  out  of  the  way  ?"  I  repeated,  savagely. 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  then  everything  will  blow  over." 

"  Thank  you  !"  I  said,  slowly  ;  and  I  trembled  with  rage. 
"  And  how  much,  may  I  ask,  are  you  to  have,  M.  le  Comte,  for 
ridding  the  Assembly  of  me  ?" 

He  stared  at  me.     "  Adrien  !"  he  cried. 

But  I  was  ruthless.  "  No,  Monsieur  le  Comte — not  Adrien  !" 
I  said,  proudly  ;  "  1  am  that  only  to  my  friends." 

"  And  I  am  no  longer  one  ?" 

I  raised  my  eyebrows  contemptuously.  "After  last  night?" 
I  said.  "After  last  night?  Is  it  possible,  monsieur,  that  you 
fancy  you  played  a  friendly  part  ?  I  came  into  your  house 
your  guest,  your  friend,  your  all  but  relative ;  and  you  laid  a 
trap  for  me,  you  held  me  up  to  ridicule  and  odium,  you — " 

"  I  did  ?"  he  exclaimed. 

"  Perhaps  not  with  your  own  voice.  But  you  stood  by  and 
saw  it  done !  You  stood  by  and  said  no  word  for  me !  You 
stood  by  and  raised  no  finger  for  me  !  If  you  call  th  It  friend- 
ship—" 

He  stopped  me  with  a  gesture  full  of  dignity.  "  You  forget 
one  thing,  M.  le  Vicomte,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  proud  reti- 
cence. 

"  Name  it !"  I  answered,  disdainfully. 

"That  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Alais  is  my  sister!" 

"Ah!" 

"And  that,  whether  the  fault  was  yours  or  not,  you  last 
evening  treated  her  lightly — before  two  hundred  people !  You 
forgot  that,  M.  le  Vicornte." 

"  I  treated  her  lightly?"  I  replied,  in  a  fresh  excess  of  rage. 
We  had  moved,  as  if  by  common  consent,  a  little  from  the 


34  THE    RED    COCKAllK 

door,  and  by  this  time  were  glaring  into  one  another's  eyes. 
"And  with  whom  lay  the  fault  if  1  did  ?  With  \vh<>m  lay  the 
fault,  monsieur  .'  You  gave  me  the  choice — nay,  you  forced  me 
to  make  choice  between  slighting  her  and  giving  up  opinions 
and  convictions  which  I  hold,  in  which  I  have  been  bred,  in 
which — " 

"  Opinions  /"  he  said,  more  harshly  than  he  had  yet  spoken. 
"  And  what  are,  after  all,  opinions  ?  Pardon  me,  I  see  that  1 
annoy  you,  monsieur.  But  I  am  not  philosophic;  I  have  not 
been  to  England  and  I  cannot  understand  a  man — " 

"  Giving  up  anything  for  his  opinions  !"  I  cried,  with  a 
savage  sneer.  "  No,  monsieur,  I  dare  say  you  cannot.  If  a 
man  will  not  stand  by  his  friends,  he  will  not  stand  by  his  opin- 
ions. To  do  either  the  one  or  the  other,  M.  le  Comte,  a  man 
must  not  be  a  coward." 

He  grew  pale,  and  looked  at  me  strangely.  "  Hush,  mon- 
sieur!" he  said — involuntarily,  it  seemed  to  me.  And  a  spasm 
crossed  his  face,  as  if  a  sharp  pain  shot  through  him. 

But  I  was  beside  myself  with  passion.  "  A  coward  !"  I  re- 
peated. "Do  you  understand  me,  M.  le  Comte?  Or  do  you 
wish  me  to  go  inside  and  repeat  the  word  before  the  Assembly  i' ' 

"  There  is  no  need,"  he  said,  growing  as  red  as  he  had  before 
been  pale. 

"  There  should  be  none,"  I  answered,  with  a  sneer.  "  May  I 
conclude  that  you  will  meet  me  after  the  Assembly  rises?" 

He  bowed  without  speaking;  and  then,  and  not  till  tlu-n, 
something  in  his  silence  and  his  looks  pierced  the  armor  of  my 
rage ;  and  on  a  sudden  I  grew  sick  at  heart  and  cold.  It  was 
too  late,  however ;  I  had  said  that  which  could  never  be  unsaid. 
The  memory  of  his  patience,  of  his  goodness,  of  his  forbear- 
ance, came  after  the  event.  I  saluted  him  formally  ;  he  re- 
plied ;  and  I  turned  grimly  to  the  door  again. 

But  I  was  not  to  pass  through  it  yet.  A  second  time,  when 
I  had  the  latch  in  my  grasp,  and  the  door  an  inch  open,  a  hand 
plucked  me  back;  so  forcibly  that  the  latch  rattled  as  it  fell, 
and  I  turned  in  a  rage.  To  my  astonishment  it  was  Louis 
again,  but  with  a  changed  face — a  face  of  strange  excitement. 
1I>  retained  his  hold  on  me. 


THE    ORDEAL  .     35 

"  No,"  he  said,  between  his  teeth.  "  You  have  called  me  a 
coward,  M.  le  Viconite,  and  I  will  not  wait !  Not  an  hour. 
You  shall  fight  me  now.  There  is  a  garden  at  the  back,  and — " 

But  I  had  grown  as  cold  as  he  hot.  "  I  shall  do  nothing  of 
the  kind,"  I  said,  cutting  him  short.  "  After  the  Assembly — " 

lie  raised  his  hand  and  deliberately  struck  me  with  his  glove 
across  the  face. 

"  Will  that  persuade  you,  then  ?"  he  said,  as  I  involuntarily 
recoiled.  "  After  that,  monsieur,  if  you  are  a  gentleman,  you 
will  fight  me.  There  is  a  garden  at  the  back,  and  in  ten  min- 
utes—" 

"  In  ten  minutes  the  Assembly  may  have  risen,"  I  said. 

"  I  will  not  keep  you  so  long !"  he  answered,  sternly. 
"  Come,  sir  !  Or  must  I  strike  you  again  ?" 

"  I  will  come,"  I  said,  slowly.     "After  you,  monsieur." 


CHAPTER  III 
IN    THE    ASSEMBLY 

THE  blow,  and  the  insult  with  which  he  accompanied  it,  put 
an  end  for  the  moment  to  my  repentance.  But  short  as  was  the 
distance  across  the  floor  from  the  one  door  to  the  other,  it  gave 
me  time  to  think  again  ;  to  remember  that  this  was  Louis ;  and 
that  whatever  cause  I  had  had  to  complain  of  him,  whatever 
grounds  to  suspect  that  he  was  the  tool  of  others,  no  friend 
could  have  done  more  to  assuage  my  wrath,  nor  the  most  honest 
more  to  withhold  me  from  entering  on  an  impossible  task. 
Melting  quickly,  melting  almost  instantly,  I  felt  with  a  kind  of 
horror  that  if  kindness  alone  had  led  him  to  interpose,  I  had 
made  him  the  worst  return  in  the  world  ;  and,  in  fine,  before 
the  outer  door  could  be  opened  to  us  I  repented  anew.  When 
the  usher  held  it  for  me  to  pass  I  bade  him  close  it,  and,  to 
Louis's  surprise,  turned,  and,  muttering  something,  ran  back. 
Before  he  could  do  more  than  utter  a  cry  I  was  across  the  ves- 
tibule;  a  moment,  and  I  had  the  door  of  the  Assembly  open. 

Instantly  I  saw  before  me  —  I  suppose  that  my  hand  had 
raised  the  latch  noisily — tiers  of  surprised  faces  all  turned  my 
\vav.  I  heard  a  murmur  of  mingled  annoyance  and  laughter. 
The  next  moment  I  was  threading  my  way  to  my  place  with  the 
monotonous  voice  of  the  President  in  my  ears,  and  the  scene 
round  ine  so  changed  —  from  that  low -toned  altercation  out- 
side to  this  Chamber  full  of  light  and  life,  and  thronged  with 
starers —  that  I  sank  into  my  seat  dazzled  and  abashed,  and 
almost  forgetful  for  the  time  of  the  purpose  which  brought  me 
thither. 

A  little,  and  my  face  grew  hotter  still;  and  with  good  reason. 
of  the  benches  on  which  we  sat  held  three.  I  shared 


"ONE    MOMENT    AND    1    HAD    THE    DOOR   OF   THE    ASSEMBLY    OPKN  " 


IN    THE    ASSEMBLY  39 

mine  with  one  of  the  Harincourts  and  M.  d'Aulnoy,  my  place 
being  between  them.  I  had  scarcely  taken  it  five  seconds  when 
Harincourt  rose  slowly,  and,  without  turning  his  face  to  me, 
moved  away  down  the  gangway,  and,  fanning  himself  delicately 
with  his  hat,  assumed  a  leaning  position  against  a  desk  with  his 
gaze  on  the  President.  Half  a  minute  and  D'Aulnoy  followed 
his  example.  Then  the  three  behind  me  rose,  and  quietly,  and 
without  looking  at  me,  found  other  places.  The  three  before  me 
followed  suit.  In  two  minutes  I  sat  alone,  isolated,  a  mark  for 
all  eyes  ;  a  kind  of  leper  in  the  Assembly. 

I  ought  to  have  been  prepared  for  some  such  demonstration ; 
but  I  was  not,  and  my  cheeks  burned  as  if  the  curious  looks 
to  which  I  was  exposed  were  a  hot  fire.  It  was  impossible 
for  me,  taken  by  surprise,  to  hide  my  embarrassment,  for  wher- 
ever I  gazed  I  met  sneering  eyes  and  contemptuous  glances ; 
and  pride  would  not  let  me  hang  my  head.  For  many  minutes, 
therefore,  I  was  unconscious  of  everything  but  that  scorching 
gaze.  I  could  not  hear  what  was  going  forward.  The  Presi- 
dent's voice  was  a  dull,  meaningless  drawl  to  me. 

Yet  all  the  while  anger  and  resentment  were  hardening  me  in 
my  resolve  ;  and  presently  the  cloud  passed  from  my  mind, 
and  left  me  exulting.  The  monotonous  reading,  to  which  I  had 
listened  without  understanding  it,  came  to  an  end,  and  was 
followed  by  short,  sharp  interrogations  —  a  question  and  an 
answer,  a  name  and  a  reply.  It  was  that  awoke  me.  The 
drawl  had  been  the  reading  of  the  cahier  ;  now  they  were  vot- 
ing on  it. 

Presently  it  would  be  my  turn  ;  it  was  coming  to  my  turn 
now.  With  each  vote — I  need  not  say  that  all  were  affirmative 
— more  faces  and  yet  more  were  turned  to  the  place  where  I 
sat ;  more  eyes,  some  hostile,  some  triumphant,  some  merely 
curious,  were  directed  to  my  face.  Under  other  circumstances 
this  might  have  cowed  me  ;  now  it  did  not.  I  was  wrought  up 
to  face  it.  The  unfriendly  looks  of  so  many  who  had  called 
themselves  my  friends,  the  scornful  glances  of  new  men  of  en- 
nobled families,  who  had  been  glad  of  my  father's  countenance, 
the  consciousness  that  all  had  deserted  me  merely  because  I 
maintained  in  practice  opinions  which  half  of  them  had  pro- 


TIIK     KKU     COl'KADK 


claimed   in  words  —  these,  though,  hardened  me  to  a  pitch  of 
scorn  no  whit  below  that  of  my  opponents  ;  while  the  knowledge 
that  to  hlench  now  must  cover  me  with  lusting  shame  cl 
door  to  thoughts  of  surrender. 

The  Assembly,  on  the  other  hand,  felt  the  novelty  of  its 
position.  Men  were  not  yet  accustomed  to  the  war  of  the 
Senate  ;  to  duels  of  words  more  deadly  than  those  of  the 
sw<>nl;  and  a  certain  doubt,  a  certain  hesitation,  held  the  major- 
ity in  suspense,  watching  to  see  what  would  happen.  More- 
over, the  leaders,  both  M.  de  St.  Alais,  who  headed  the  hotter 
and  prouder  of  the  court  party,  and  the  nobles  of  the  Robe  and 
Parliament,  who  had  only  lately  discovered  that  their  interest 
lay  in  the  same  direction,  found  themselves  embarrassed  by  the 
very  smallness  of  the  opposition  ;  since  a  substantial  majority 
must  have  been  accepted  as  a  fact,  whereas  one  man  —  one  man 
only  standing  in  the  way  of  unanimity  —  presented  himself  as  a 
thing  to  be  removed,  if  only  the  way  could  be  discovered. 

"  M.  le  Comte  de  Cantal  ?"  the  President  cried,  and  looked, 
not  at  the  person  he  named,  but  at  me. 

"  Content  !" 

"  M.  le  Vicomte  de  Marignac  ?" 

"  Content  I'' 

The  next  name  I  could  not  hear,  for  in  my  excitement  it 
seemed  that  all  in  the  Chamber  were  looking  at  me,  that  voice 
was  failing  me,  that  when  the  moment  came  I  should  sit  dumb 
and  paralyzed,  unable  to  speak,  and  forever  disgraced.  I 
thought  of  this,  not  of  what  was  passing;  then  in  a  moment 
self-control  returned;  I  heard  the  last  name  before  mine,  that  of 
M.  d'Aulnoy  ;  heard  the  answer  given.  Then  my  own  name, 
echoing  in  hollow  silence. 

••  M.  le  Vicomte  de  Saux  ?" 

I  stood  up.  T  spoke,  my  voice  sounding  harsh,  and  like 
another  man's.  "  I  dissent  from  this  cahier  !"  I  cried. 

1  expected  an  outburst  of  wrath  ;  it  did  not  come.    Instead,  a 
peal   of    laughter,   in    whi'-h    I   distinguished    St.    Alai-' 
rang  through   the  room,  and   brought   the  blood  to  my  cheeks. 
The  laughter  lasted  some  time,  r«»-  and   fell,  and  rose   a^iin, 
while  I  stood  pilloried.     Vet  this  had  one  effect  the  laughers  did 


IN    THE    ASSEMBLY  41 

not  anticipate.  On  occasions  the  most  taciturn  become  eloquent. 
I  forgot  the  periods  from  Rochefoucauld  and  Liancourt,  which 
I  had  so  carefully  prepared ;  I  forgot  the  passages  from  Turgot, 
of  which  I  had  made  notes,  and  I  broke  out  in  a  strain  I  had 
not  foreseen  or  intended. 

"  Messieurs  !"  I  cried,  hurling  my  voice  through  the  Cham- 
ber, "  I  dissent  from  this  cahier  because  it  is  effete  and  futile  ; 
because,  if  for  no  other  reason,  the  time  when  it  could  have 
been  of  service  is  past.  You  claim  your  privileges ;  they  are 
gone  !  Your  exemptions ;  they  are  gone  !  You  protest  against 
the  union  of  your  representatives  with  those  of  the  people  ;  but 
they  have  sat  with  them !  They  have  sat  with  them,  and  you 
can  no  more  undo  that  by  a  protest  than  you  can  set  back  the 
tide  !  The  thing  is  done.  The  dog  is  hungry;  you  have  given 
it  a  bone.  Do  you  think  to  get  the  bone  back,  unmouthed, 
whole,  without  loss  ?  Then  you  are  mad.  But  this  is  not  all, 
nor  the  principal  of  my  objections  to  this  cahier.  France  to- 
day stands  naked,  bankrupt,  without  treasury,  without  money. 
Do  you  think  to  help  her,  to  clothe  her,  to  enrich  her,  by  main- 
taining your  privileges,  by  maintaining  your  exemptions,  by 
standing  out  for  the  last  jot  and  tittle  of  your  rights?  No, 
messieurs.  In  the  old  days  those  exemptions,  those  rights, 
those  privileges,  wherein  our  ancestors  gloried,  and  gloried  well, 
were  given  to  them  because  they  were  the  buckler  of  France. 
They  maintained  and  armed  and  led  men  ;  the  commonalty 
did  the  rest.  But  now  the  people  fight,  the  people  pay,  the 
people  do  all.  Yes,  messieurs,  it  is  true ;  it  is  true  that  which 
we  have  all  heard,  '  Le  manant  paye  pour  tout  /'  ' 

I  paused  ;  expecting  that  now,  at  last,  the  long-delayed  out- 
burst of  anger  would  come.  Instead,  before  any  in  the  Cham- 
ber could  speak,  there  rose  through  the  windows,  which  looked 
on  the  market-place  and  had  been  widely  opened  on  account  of 
the  heat,  a  great  cry  of  applause — the  shout  of  the  street,  that 
for  the  first  time  heard  its  wrongs  voiced.  It  was  full  of  assent 
and  rejoicing,  yet  no  attack  could  have  disconcerted  me  more 
completely.  I  stood  astonished  and  silenced. 

The  effect  which  it  had  on  me  was  slight,  however,  in  compari- 
son with  that  which  it  had  on  my  opponents.  The  cries  of  dis- 


42  THE    RED    COCKADE 

sent  they  were  abont.to  utter  died  still-born  at  the  portent,  and  for 
a  moment  men  stared  at  one  another  as  if  they  could  not  be- 
lieve tlirir  ears.  For  that  moment  a  silence  of  rage,  of  surprise, 
prevailed  through  the  whole  Chamber.  Then  M.  de  St.  Alais 
sprung  to  his  feet. 

"  What  is  this?"  he  cried,  his  handsome  face  dark  with  ex- 
citement. "  Has  the  King  ordered  us,  too,  to  sit  with  the  Third 
Kstate  ?  Has  he  so  humiliated  us?  If  not,  M.  le  President — if 
not,  I  say,"  he  continued,  sternly  putting  down  an  attempt  at 
applause,  "and  if  this  be  not  a  conspiracy  between  some  of  our 
body  and  the  canaille  to  bring  about  another  Jacquerie — " 

The  President,  a  weak  man  of  a  robe  family,  interrupted  him. 
"  Have  a  care,  monsieur,"  he  said.  "  The  windows  are  still 
open." 

"  Open  ?" 

The  President  nodded. 

"  And  what  if  they  are  ?  What  of  it  ?"  St.  Alais  answered, 
harshlv.  "What  of  it,  monsieur?"  he  continued,  looking 
round  him  with  an  eye  which  seemed  to  collect  and  express  the 
scorn  of  the  more  fiery  spirits.  "  If  so,  let  it  be  so  !  Let  them 
be  open.  Let  the  people  hear  both  sides,  and  not  only  those 
who  flatter  them  ;  those  who,  by  building  on  their  weakness  and 
ignorance,  and  canting  about  their  rights  and  our  wrongs,  think 
to  exalt  themselves  into  Retzes  and  Cromwells  !  Ye*.  M.  le  Presi- 
dent," he  continued,  while  I  strove  in  vain  to  interrupt  him,  and 
half  the  Assembly  rose  to  their  feet  in  confusion,  "I  repeat  the 
phrase — who  to  the  ambition  of  a  Cromwell  or  a  Retz  add  their 
violence,  not  their  parts !" 

The  injustice  of  the  reproach  stung  me,  and  I  turned  on 
him.  "  M.  le  Marquis,"  I  cried,  hotly,  "if  by  that  phrase  you 
refer  to  me — " 

lie  laughed  scornfully.     "  As  you  please,  monsieur,"  lie 

"  I  fling  it  bark  !  I  repudiate  it !"  I  cried.  "  M.  de  St.  Alais 
has  called  me  a  Retz — a  Cromwell — " 

'•  Pardon  me,"  he  interposed,  swiftly  ;  "  a  would-be  Ret/  !'' 

••A  trait'-r.  either  way!"  1  answered,  striving  against  the 
laughter,  which  at  his  repartw  Hashed  through  the  room,  bring- 
ing the  blood  rushing  to  my  face.  "  A  traitor  either  way  !  But 


IN    THE    ASSEMBLY  43 

I  say  that  he  is  the  traitor  who  to-day  advises  the  King  to  his 
hurt." 

"  And  not  he  who  comes  here  with  a  mob  at  his  back  ?"  St. 
Alais  retorted,  with  heat  almost  equal  to  my  own.  "Who,  one 
man,  would  browbeat  a  hundred,  and  dictate  to  this  Assembly  ?" 

"  Monsieur  repeats  himself,"  I  cried,  cutting  him  short  in  my 
turn,  though  no  laughter  followed  my  gibe.  "  I  deny  what  he 
says  !  I  fling  back  his  accusations  !  I  retort  upon  him  !  And, 
for  the  rest,  I  object  to  this  cahier,  I  dissent  from  it,  I — " 

But  the  Assembly  was  at  the  end  of  its  patience.  A  roar  of 
"  Withdraw  !  withdraw  !"  drowned  my  voice,  and  in  a  moment 
the  meeting,  so  orderly  a  few  minutes  before,  became  a  scene  of 
wild  uproar.  A  few  of  the  elder  men  continued  to  keep  their 
seats,  but  the  majority  rose ;  some  had  already  sprung  to  the 
windows  and  closed  them,  and  still  stood  with  their  feet  on  the 
ledge,  looking  down  on  the  confusion.  Others  had  gone  to  the 
door  and  taken  their  stand  there,  perhaps  with  the  idea  of  resist- 
ing intrusion.  The  President  in  vain  cried  for  silence.  His 

O 

voice,  equally  with  mine,  was  lost  in  the  persistent  clamor,  which 
swelled  to  a  louder  pitch  whenever  I  offered  to  speak,  and  sank 
only  when  I  desisted. 

At  length  M.  de  St.  Alais  raised  his  hand,  and  with  little  dif- 
ficulty procured  silence.  Before  I  could  take  advantage  of  it 
the  President  interposed.  "  The  Assembly  of  the  noblesse  of 
Quercy,"  he  said,  hurriedly,  "  is  in  favor  of  this  cahier,  main- 
taining our  ancient  rights,  privileges,  and  exemptions.  The 
Vicomte  de  Saux  alone  protests.  The  cahier  will  be  presented." 

"  I  protest !"  I  cried,  weakly. 

"I  have  said  so,"  the  President  answered,  with  a  sneer. 
And  a  peal  of  derisive  laughter,  mingled  with  shouts  of  ap- 
plause, ran  round  the  Chamber.  "  The  cahier  will  be  presented. 
The  matter  is  concluded." 

Then  in  a  moment,  magically  as  it  seemed  to  me,  the  Cham- 
ber resumed  its  ordinary  aspect.  The  members  who  had  risen 
returned  to  their  seats ;  those  who  had  closed  the  windows  de- 
scended ;  a  few  retired;  the  President  proceeded  with  some 
ordinary  business.  Every  trace  of  the  storm  disappeared.  In 
a  twinkling  all  was  as  it  had  been. 

3 


t 


44  TI1K     HK1)     COCKADE 

Kven  where  I  sat;  for  no  isolation,  no  division  from  my  fol- 
lows, could  exceed  that  in  which  I  had  sat  before.  But  whereas 
before  I  had  had  my  weapon  in  reserve  and  my  revenge  in 
prospect,  that  was  no  longer  so.  I  had  shot  my  bolt,  and  I 
sat  miserable,  fettered  by  the  silence  and  the  strange  glances 
that  hemmed  me  in,  and  growing  each  moment  more  depressed 
and  more  self-conscious;  longing  to  escape,  yet  shrinking  from 
moving,  even  from  looking  about  me. 

In  this  condition  not  the  least  of  my  misery  lay  in  the  re- 
flection that  I  had  done  no  good  ;  that  I  had  suffered  for  a 
(juixotism,  and  shown  myself  stubborn  and  obstinate  to  no 
purpose.  Too  late  I  considered  that  I  might  have  maintained 
my  principles  and  yet  conformed ;  I  might  have  stated  my 
convictions,  and  waived  them  in  deference  to  the  majority.  I 
might  have — 

But,  alas  !  whatever  I  might  have  done,  I  had  not  done  it,  and 
the  die  was  cast.  I  had  declared  myself  against  my  order,  I  had 
forfeited  all  I  could  claim  from  my  order.  Henceforth  I  was 
not  of  it.  It  was  m  fancy  that  already  men  who  had  occasion 
to  pass  before  me  drew  their  skirts  aside,  and  bowed  formally, 
as  to  one  of  another  class. 

How  long  I  should  have  endured  this  penance — these  veiled 
insults  and  the  courtesy  that  stung  deeper — before  I  plucked  up 
spirit  to  withdraw,  I  cannot  say.  It  was  an  interposition  from 
without  that  broke  the  spell.  An  usher  came  to  me  with  a 
note.  I  opened  it  with  clumsy  fingers  under  a  fire  of  hostile 
eyes,  and  found  that  it  was  from  Louis. 

"If  you  have  a  spark  of  honor,"  it  ran,  "you  will  meet 
me.  without  a  moment's  delay,  in  the  garden  at  the  back  of  the 
cbapter-hooM.  Do  so,  and  you  may  still  call  yourself  a  gentle- 
man. Refuse,  or  delay  even  for  ten  minutes,  and  I  will  publish 
your  shame  from  one  end  of  Quercy  to  the  other.  He  cannot 
call  himself  Adrien  du  Pont  do  Saux  who  puts  up  with  a 
blow  !" 

I  read  it  twice  while  the  usher  waited.  The  words  had  a 
ernel,  heartless  rin^  in  them  ;  the  taunting  challenge  \v;is  brutal 
in  its  directness.  Vet  my  heart  grew  soft  as  I  read,  and  I  had 
much  ado  to  keep  the  tears  from  my  eyes — under  all  those  eyes. 


IX    THE    ASSEMBLY  45 

For  Louis  did  not  deceive  me  this  time.  This  note,  so  unlike 
him,  this  desperate  attempt  to  draw  me  out,  and  save  me  from 
opponents  more  ruthless,  were  too  transparent  to  delude  me; 
and  in  a  moment  the  icy  bands  which  had  been  growing  over 
me  melted.  I  still  sat  alone;  but  I  was  not  quite  deserted.  I 
could  hold  up  my  head  again,  for  I  had  a  friend.  I  remem- 
bered that,  after  all,  through  aU,  I  was  Adrien  du  Pont  de  Saux. 
guiltless  of  aught  worse  than  holding  in  Quercy  opinions  which 
the  Larneths  and  Mirabeaus,  the  Liancourts  and  Rochefoucaulds 
held  in  their  provinces ;  guiltless,  I  told  myself,  of  aught  be- 
sides standing  for  right  and  justice. 

But  the  usher  waited.  I  took  from  the  desk  before  me  a 
scrap  of  paper,  and  wrote  my  answer.  "  Adrien  does  not  fight 
with  Louis  because  St.  Alais  struck  Saux." 

I  wrapped  it  up  and  gave  it  to  the  usher;  than  I  sat  back 
a  different  man,  able  to  meet  all  eyes,  with  a  heart  armed 
against  all  misfortunes.  Friendship,  generosity,  love  still  ex- 
isted, though  the  gentry  of  Quercy,  the  Gontauts,  and  Mari- 
gnacs  sat  aloof.  Life  would  still  hold  sweets,  though  the  grass 
should  grow  in  the  walnut  avenue,  and  my  shield  should  never 
quarter  the  arms  of  St.  Alais. 

So  I  took  courage,  stood  up,  and  moved  to  go  out.  But  the 
moment  I  did  so  a  dozen  members  sprang  to  their  feet  also; 
and  as  I  walked  down  one  gangway  towards  the  door  they 
crowded  down  another  parallel  with  it  —  offensively,  openlv, 
with  the  evident  intention  of  intercepting  me  before  I  could 
escape.  The  commotion  was  so  great  that  the  President  paused 
in  his  reading  to  watch  the  result,  while  the  mass  of  members 
who  kept  their  places  rose  that  they  might  have  a  better  view. 
I  saw  that  I  was  to  be  publicly  insulted,  and  a  fierce  joy  took 
the  place  of  every  other  feeling.  If  I  went  slowly,  it  was  not 
through  fear ;  the  pent-up  passions  of  the  last  hour  inspired 
me,  and  I  would  not  have  hastened  the  climax  for  the  world. 
I  reached  the  foot  of  the  gangway;  in  another  moment  we  must 
have  come  into  collision,  when  an  abrupt  explosion  of  voices, 
a  great  roar  in  the  street,  that  penetrated  through  the  closed 
windows,  brought  us  to  a  halt.  We  paused,  listening  and 
glaring,  while  the  few  who  had  not  stood  up  before  rose  hurried- 


46  THE    RED    COCKADE 

ly,  and  the  President,  startled  and  suspicious,  asked  what  it 
was. 

For  answer  the  sound  rose  again — dull,  prolonged,  shaking 
the  windows;  a  hoarse  shout  of  triumph.  It  fell — not  ceasing, 
but  passing  away  into  the  distance  —  and  then  once  more  it 
swelled  up.  It  was  unlike  any  shout  I  have  ever  heard. 

Little  by  little  articulate  words  grew  out  of  it,  or  succeeded 
it,  until  the  air  shook  with  the  measured  rhythm  of  one  stern 
sentence.  "  A  bas  la  Bastille !  A  bas  la  Bastille  !" 

We  were  to  hear  many  such  cries  in  the  time  to  come,  and 
grow  accustomed  to  such  alarms  ;  to  the  hungry  roar  in  the 
street,  and  the  loud  knocking  at  the  door  that  spelled  fate. 
But  they  were  a  new  thing  then,  and  the  Assembly,  as  much 
outraged  as  alarmed  by  this  second  trespass  on  its  dignity, 
could  only  look  at  its  President,  and  mutter  wrathful  threats 
against  the  canaille.  The  canaille  that  had  crouched  for  a 
century  seemed  in  some  unaccountable  way  to  be  changing  its 
posture ! 

One  man  cried  out  one  thing,  and  one  another ;  that  the  streets 
should  be  cleared,  the  regiment  sent  for,  or  complaint  made  to 
the  Intendant.  They  were  still  speaking  when  the  door  opened 
and  a  member  came  in.  It  was  Louis  de  St.  Alais,  and  his  face 
was  aglow  with  excitement.  Commonly  the  most  modest  and 
quiet  of  men,  he  stood  forward  now  and  raised  his  hand  im- 
peratively for  silence. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said,  in  a  loud,  ringing  voice,  "  there  is 
strange  news!  A  courier  with  letters  for  my  brother,  M.  de 
St.  Alais,  has  spoken  in  the  street.  He  brings  strange  tidings." 

"  "What  ?"  two  or  three  cried. 

"  The  Bastille  has  fallen  !" 

No  one  understood — how  should  they? — but  all  were  silent. 
Then,  "  What  do  you  mean,  M.  St.  Alais?"  the  President  asked, 
in  bewilderment;  and  he  raised  his  hand  that  the  silence  might 
be  preserved.  "The  Bastille  has  fall.-n  ?  How  ?  What  is  it?" 

"  It  was  captured  on  Tuesday  by  the  mob  of  Paris,"  Louis 
answered,  distinctly,  his  eyes  bright,  "and  M.  de  Launay,  the 
Governor,  murdered  in  cold  blood." 

"  The  Bastille  captured  ?     By  the  mob  ?"  the   President  ex- 


'1  .> 

^v*v  m  •  \- 


"  '  GENTiKMKN,'   HE    SAID,   IS    A    LOUD,    RINGING    VOICE,    '  THERE    IS    STRANGK 
NUVS  1'  " 


IN    THE    ASSEMBLY  49 

claimed,  incredulously.  "It  is  impossible,  monsieur.  You  must 
have  misunderstood." 

Louis  shook  his  head.     "  It  is  true,  I  fear,"  he  said. 

"  And  M.  de  Launay  f ' 

"  That  too,  I  fear,  M.  le  President." 

Then,  indeed,  men  looked  at  one  another,  startled,  pale- 
faced,  each  asking  mute  questions  of  his  fellows ;  while  in  the 
street  outside  the  hum  of  disorder  and  rejoicing  grew  moment 
by  moment  more  steady  and  continuous.  Men  looked  at  each 
other  alarmed,  and  could  not  believe.  The  Bastille,  which  had 
stood  so  many  centuries,  captured  ?  The  Governor  killed  ?  Im- 
possible, they  muttered,  impossible.  For  what,  in  that  case, 
was  the  King  doing  ?  What  the  army  ?  What  the  Governor 
of  Paris? 

Old  M.  de  Gontaut  put  the  thought  into  words.  "  But  the 
King  ?"  he  said,  as  soon  as  he  could  get  a  hearing.  "  Doubt- 
less His  Majesty  has  already  punished  the  wretches?" 

The  answer  came  from  an  unexpected  quarter,  in  words  as 
little  expected.  M.  de  St.  Alais,  to  whom  Louis  had  handed  a 
letter,  rose  from  his  seat  with  an  open  paper  in  his  hand. 
Doubtless  if  he  had  taken  time  to  consider  he  would  have 
seen  the  imprudence  of  making  public  all  he  knew;  but  the 
surprise  and  mortification  of  the  news  he  had  received — news 
that  gave  the  lie  to  his  confident  assurances,  news  that  made 
the  most  certain  doubt  the  ground  on  which  they  stood,  swept 
away  his  discretion.  He  spoke. 

"  I  do  not  know  what  the  King  was  doing,"  he  said,  in  mock- 
ing accents,  "  at  Versailles ;  but  I  can  tell  you  how  the  army 
was  employed  in  Paris.  The  Garde  Franchise  were  foremost 
in  the  attack.  Besenval,  with  such  troops  as  have  not  deserted, 
has  withdrawn.  The  city  is  in  the  hands  of  the  mob.  They 
have  shot  Flesselles,  the  Provost,  and  elected  Bailly  Mayor. 
They  have  raised  a  militia  and  armed  it.  They  have  ap- 
pointed Lafayette  General.  They  have  adopted  a  badge.  They 
have—" 

"  But,  mon  Dieu  !"  the  President  cried,  aghast.  "  This  is  a 
revolt !" 

"  Precisely,  monsieur,"  St.  Alais  answered. 


.")<»  THE    KKD    COCKADK 

"  And  what  docs  the  King?" 

"He  is  so  good — that  he  has  done  nothing,"  was  the  bitter 
answer. 

"And  the  States  -  General,  the  National  Assembly  at  Ver- 
sailles?" 

44  Oh,  they  ?     They,  too,  have  done  nothing." 

44  It  is  Paris,  then  ?"  the  President  said. 

44  Yes,  monsieur,  it  is  Paris,"  the  marquis  answered. 

44 But  Paris?"  the  President  exclaimed,  helplessly.  44  Paris 
has  been  quiet  so  many  years." 

To  this,  however,  the  thought  in  every  one's  mind,  there 
seemed  to  be  no  answer.  St.  Alais  sat  down  again,  and  for 
a  moment  the  Assembly  remained  stunned  by  astonishment, 
prostrate  under  these  new,  these  marvellous  facts.  No  better 
comment  on  the  discussions  in  which  it  had  been  engaged  a 
few  minutes  before  could  have  been  found.  Its  members  had 
been  dreaming  of  their  rights,  their  privileges,  their  exemp- 
tions; they  awoke  to  find  Paris  in  flames,  the  army  in  revolt, 
order  and  law  in  the  utmost  peril. 

But  St.  Alais  was  not  the  man  to  be  long  wanting  to  his 

part,  nor  one  to  abdicate  of  his  free  will  a  leadership  which 

vigor  and  audacity  had  secured  for  him.     He  sprang  to   his 

feet  again,  and  in  an  impassioned  harangue   called   upon  the 

rnblv  to  remember  the  Fronde. 

uAi  Paris  was  then,  Paris  is  now!"  he  cried.  44  Fickle 
and  seditious,  to  be  won  by  no  gifts,  but  always  to  be  over- 
come by  famine.  Rest  assured  that  the  fat  bourgeois  will  not 
]<>i\<r  do  without  the  white  bread  of  Gonesse,  nor  the  tippler 
without  the  white  wine  of  Arbois!  Cut  these  off,  the  mad 
will  grow  sane,  and  the  traitor  loyal.  Their  National  Guards, 
and  their  Badges,  and  their  Mayors,  and  their  General?  Do 
you  think  that  these  will  long  avail  against  the  forces  of  order, 
of  loyalty,  against  the  King,  the  nobility,  the  clergy,  against 
France?  No,  gentlemen,  it  is  impossible,"  he  continued,  look- 
ing round  him,  with  warmth.  44  Paris  would  have  deposed  the 
great  Henry  and  exiled  Mazarin  ;  but  in  the  result  it  licked 
their  shoes.  It  will  be  so  again,  only  we  must  stand  together, 
\M-  must  be  firm.  We  roust  see  that  these  disorders  spread 


IX    THE    ASSEMBLY  51 

no  farther.  It  is  the  King's  to  govern,  and  the  people's  to 
obey.  It  has  been  so,  and  it  will  be  so  to  the  end  !" 

His  words  were  not  many,  but  they  were  timely  and  vigor- 
ous, and  they  served  to  reassure  the  Assembly.  All  that  large 
majority  which  in  every  gathering  of  men  has  no  more  im- 
agination than  serves  to  paint  the  future  in  the  colors  of  the 
past  found  his  arguments  perfectly  convincing;  while  the  few 
who  saw  more  clearly,  and  by  the  light  of  instinct  or  cold 
reason  discerned  that  the  state  of  France  had  no  precedent 
in  its  history,  felt  nevertheless  the  infection  of  his  confidence. 
A  universal  shout  of  applause  greeted  his  last  sentence,  and, 
amid  tumultuous  cries,  the  concourse,  which  had  remained  on 
its  feet,  poured  into  the  gangways  and  made  for  the  door,  a 
desire  to  see  and  hear  what  was  going  forward  moving  all  to 
get  out  as  qui'ckly  as  possible,  though  it  was  not  likely  that 
more  could  be  learned  than  was  already  known. 

I  shared  this  feeling  myself,  and,  forgetting  in  the  excite- 
ment of  the  moment  my  part  in  the  day's  debate,  I  pressed  to  the 
door.  The  Bastille  fallen  ?  The  Governor  killed  ?  Paris  in  the 
hands  of  the  mob  ?  Such  tidings  were  enough  to  set  the  brain 
in  a  whirl  and  breed  forgetfulness  of  nearer  matters.  Others, 
in  the  preoccupation  of-  the  moment,  seemed  to  be  equally  ob- 
livious, and  I  forced  my  way  out  with  the  rest. 

But  in  the  doorway  I  happened  by  a  little  clumsiness  to 
touch  one  of  the  Harincourts  somewhat  sharply.  He  turned  his 
head,  saw  who  it  was  who  had  touched  him,  and  tried  to  stop. 
The  pressure  was  too  great,  however,  and  he  was  borne  on 
in  front  of  me,  struggling,  and  muttering  something  I  could 
not  hear.  I  guessed  what  it  was,  however,  by  the  manner 
in  which  others,  abreast  of  him  and  as  helpless,  turned  their 
heads  and  sneered  at  me ;  and  I  was  considering  how  I  could 
best  encounter  what  was  to  come,  when  the  sight  which  met 
our  gaze,  as  we  at  last  issued  from  the  narrow  passage  and 
faced  the  market-place,  two  steps  below  us,  drove  their  existence 
for  a  moment  from  my  mind. 


CHAFIER  IV 
L'AMI  DU  PKUPLK 

THERE  were  others  who  stood  also,  impressed  by  a  sight 
which,  in  the  light  of  the  news  we  had  just  heard — that  aston- 
ishing, that  amazing  news — seemed  to  have  especial  significance. 
We  had  not  yet  grown  accustomed  in  France  to  crowds.  K«»r 
centuries  the  one  man,  the  individual,  King,  Cardinal,  Noble,  or 
Bishop,  had  stood  forward ;  and  the  many,  the  multitude,  had 
melted  away  under  his  eye — had  bowed  and  passed. 

But  here,  within  our  view,  rose  the  cold,  lowering  dawn  of  a 
new  day.  Perhaps  if  we  had  not  heard  what  we  had  heard  — 
that  news,  I  mean — or  if  the  people  had  not  heard  it,  the  effect 
on  us,  the  action  on  their  part,  might  have  been  different.  As 
it  was,  the  crowd  that  faced  us  in  the  square  as  we  came  out, 
the  great  crowd  that  faced  us  and  stretched  from  wall  to  wall, 
silent,  vigilant,  menacing,  showed  not  a  sign  of  flinching;  and 
we  did.  \Ve  stood  astonished,  each  halting  as  he  came  out, 
and  looking,  and  then  consulting  his  neighbor's  eyes  to  learn 
what  he  thought. 

\Ye  had  over  our  heads  the  great  cathedral,  from  the  shadow 
of  which  we  issued.  We  had  among  us  many  who  had  been 
wont  to  sec  a  hundred  peasants  tremble  at  their  frown.  But  in 
a  moment,  in  a  twinkling,  as  if  that  news  from  Paris  had  shaken 
the  foundations  of  society,  we  found  these  things  in  question. 
Tin-  crowd  in  the  square  did  not  tremble.  In  a  silence  that  was 
grimmer  than  howling  it  gave  back  look  for  look.  Not  only 
that,  but  as  we  issued  they  made  no  way  for  us,  and  those  of 
the  Assemblv  who  had  already  !^«>ne  down  had  to  walk  along 
the  skirts  of  the  |>iv-s  to  get  to  the  inn.  \Ve  who  came  later 
saw  this,  and  it  hail  its  weight  with  us.  We  \\i-re  m.hles  of 


L'AMI  DU  PEUPLE  53 

the  province ;  but  we  were  only  two  hundred,  and  between  us 
and  the  Trois  Rois,  between  us  and  our  horses  and  servants, 
stretched  this  line  of  gloomy  faces,  these  thousands  of  silent 
men. 

No  wonder  that  the  sight,  and  something  that  underlay  the 
sight,  diverted  my  mind  for  a  moment  from  M.  Harincourt  and 
his  purpose,  and  that  I  looked  abroad ;  while  he,  too,  stood 
gaping  and  frowning,  and  forgot  me.  Perforce  we  had  to  go 
down,  one  by  one,  reluctantly,  a  meagre  string  winding  across 
the  face  of  the  crowd — sullen  defiance  on  one  side,  scorn  on  the 
other.  In  Cahors  it  came  to  be  remembered  as  the  first  triumph 
of  the  people,  the  first  step  in  the  degradation  of  the  privileged. 
A  word  had  brought  it  about.  A  word,  the  Bastille  fallen,  had 
combined  the  floating  groups,  and  formed  of  them  this  which 
we  saw — the  people. 

Under  such  circumstances  it  needed  only  the  slightest  spark 
to  bring  about  an  explosion;  and  that  was  presently  supplied. 
M.  de  Gontaut,  a  tall,  thin  old  man,  who  could  remember  the 
early  days  of  the  late  King,  walked  a  little  way  in  front  of  me. 
He  was  lame,  and  used  a  cane,  and,  as  a  rule,  a  servant's  arm. 
This  morning  the  lackey  was  not  forthcoming,  and  he  felt  the  in- 
convenience of  skirting  instead  of  crossing  the  square.  Never- 
theless, he  was  not  foolish  enough  to  thrust  himself  into  the 
crowd ;  and  all  might  have  gone  well  if  a  rogue  in  the  front 
rank  of  the  throng  had  not,  perhaps  by  accident,  tripped  up  the 
cnne  with  his  foot.  M.  le  Baron  turned  in  a  flash,  every  hair  of 
his  eyebrows  on  end,  and  struck  the  fellow  with  his  stick. 

"  Stand  back,  rascal !"  he  cried,  trembling,  and  threatening 
to  repeat  the  blow.  "  If  I  had  you,  I  would  soon — " 

The  man  spat  at  him. 

M.  de  Gontaut  uttered  an  oath,  and  in  ungovernable  rage 
struck  the  wretch  two  or  three  blows — how  many  I  could  not 
see,  though  I  was  only  a  few  paces  behind.  Apparently  the 
man  did  not  strike  back,  but  shrank,  cowed  by  the  old  noble's 
fury.  But  those  behind  flung  him  forward,  with  cries  of  "  Shame ! 
A  has  la  Noblesse!"  and  he  fell  against  M.  de  Gontaut.  In  a 
moment  the  baron  was  on  the  ground. 

It  was  so  quickly  done,  while  we  were  walking  three  or  four 


.".  t  T1IF.    liKl>     COCK  AUK 

paces,  that  only  those  in  the  immediate  neighborhood — St.  Alais, 
the  Harincourts,  and  myself — saw  the  fall.  1'rohably  the  mob 
meant  no  great  harm  ;  they  had  not  yet  lost  all  reverence.  But  at 
the  time,  with  the  tale  of  De  Launay  in  my  ears  and  my  imag- 
ination inflamed,  I  thought  that  they  intended  M.  <le  <;<>ntaut's 
death,  and  as  I  saw  bis  old  head  fall  I  sprang  forward  to  pro- 
tect him. 

St.  Alais  was  before  me,  however.  Bounding  forward,  with 
rage  not  less  than  Gontant's,  be  burled  the  aggressor  back  with 
a  blow  which  sent  him  into  the  arms  of  bis  supporters.  Then 
dragging  M.  do  Gontaut  to  bis  feet,  the  marquis  whipped  out  his 
sword,  and  darting  the  bright  point  hither  and  thither  with  the 
skill  of  a  practised  fencer,  in  a  twinkling  he  cleared  a  s: 
round  him,  and  made  the  nearest  give  back  with  shrieks  and 
curses. 

Unfortunately  he  touched  one  man;  the  fellow  was  not  hurt, 
but  at  the  prick  he  sank  down  screaming,  and  in  a  second  the 
mood  of  the  crowd  changed.  Shrieks,  half  playful,  gave  way 
to  a  howl  of  rage.  Some  one  flung  a  stick,  which  struck  the 
marquis  on  the  chest,  and  for  a  moment  stopped  him.  The 
next  instant  he  sprang  at  the  man  who  had  thrown  it,  and  would 
have  run  him  through,  but  the  fellow  fled,  and  the  crowd,  with  a 
yell  of  triumph,  closed  over  his  path.  This  stopped  St.  Alais 
in  mid-course,  and  left  him  only  the  choice  between  retreating 
or  wounding  people  who  were  innocent. 

1I<-  fell  back  with  a  sneering  word,  and  sheathed  his  sword. 
But  the  moment  his  back  was  turned  a  stone  struck  him  on  the 
head,  and  be  staggered  forward.  As  he  fell  the  crowd  uttered 
a  yell,  and  half  a  dozen  men  dashed  at  him  to  trample  <>n  him. 

Their  blood  was  up;  this  time  I  made  no  mistake,  1  read 
mischief  in  their  eyes.  The  scream  of  the  man  whom  he  had 
wounded,  though  the  fellow  was  more  frightened  than  hurt, 
\\.-is  in  their  ears.  One  of  the  Ilarincourts  struck  down  the 
foremost,  but  this  only  enraged  without  checking  them.  In  a 
moment  he  was  swept  aside  and  flung  back,  stunned  and  reel- 
ing, and  the  crowd  rushed  upon  their  victim. 

I  threw  myself  before  him.  I  had  just  time  to  do  that,  and 
•TV  "Shame  !  shame  '."  and  force  back  one  or  two;  and  then  my 


1M.  LK  BARON   TURNKD   IN  A  FLASH,  AND  STRUCK  THE  FELLOW  WITH  HIS  STICK' 


L'AMI  DC  PKCPLK  57 

intervention  mast  have  come  to  nothing,  it  mast  hare  fared  as 
ill  with  me  as  with  him,  if  in  the  nick  of  time,  with  a  ring  of 
grimy  faces  threatening  us,  and  a  dozen  hands  upraised,  I  had 
not  been  recognized.  Baton,  the  blacksmith  of  Saux — one  of 
the  foremost — screamed  oat  my  name,  and,  turning  with  out- 
-  tched  arms,  forced  back  his  neighbors.  A  man  of  huge 
strength,  it  was  as  much  as  he  could  do  to  stem  the  torrent ; 
but  in  a  moment  his  frenzied  cries  became  heard  and  under- 
stood. Others  recognized  me ;  the  crowd  fell  back.  Some  one 
raised  a  cry  of  "  Vive  Saax !  Long  live  the  friend  of  the  peo- 
ple !"  and  the  shout  being  taken  up  first  in  one  place  and  then 
in  another,  in  a  trice  the  square  rang  with  the  words. 

I  had  not  then  learned  the  fickleness  of  the  multitude,  or  that 
from  a  bas  to  vire  is  the  step  of  an  instant ;  and  despite  myself, 
and  though  I  despised  myself  for  the  feeling,  I  felt  my  heart 
swell  on  the  wave  of  sound.  "  Vive  Saux  !  Vive  Pami  du  peuple  P* 
My  equals  had  scorned  me,  but  the  people — the  people  whose 
faces  wore  a  new  look  to-day,  the  people  to  whom  this  one 
word,  the  Bastille  fallen,  had  given  new  life — acclaimed  me, 
For  a  moment,  even  while  I  cried  to  them,  and  shook  my  hands 
to  them  to  be  silent,  there  flashed  on  me  the  things  it  meant; 
the  things  they  had  to  give,  power  and  triboneship  !  "  Vive 
Saux  !  Long  live  the  friend  of  the  people !"  The  air  shook 
with  the  sonnd ;  the  domes  above  me  gave  it  back.  I  felt  my- 
self lifted  np  on  it ;  I  felt  myself  for  the  minute  another  and 
a  greater  man. 

Then  I  turned  and  met  St.  Alais's  eye,  and  I  fell  to  earth.  He 
had  risen,  and,  pale  with  rage,  was  wiping  the  dust  from  his 
coat  with  a  handkerchief.  A  little  blood  was  flowing  from  the 
wound  in  his  head,  but  he  paid  no  heed  to  it  in  the  intentness 
with  which  he  was  staring  at  me,  as  if  he  read  my  thoughts. 
As  soon  as  something  like  silence  was  obtained,  he  spoke. 

"Perhaps,  if  your  friends  have  quite  done  with  us,  M.  de  Saux, 
we  may  go  home  f  he  said.  His  voice  trembled  a  little. 

I  stammered  something  in  answer  to  the  sneer,  and  turned  to 
accompany  him,  though  my  way  to  the  inn  lay  in  the  opposite 
direction.  Only  the  two  Harincourts  and  M.  de  Gontaut  were 
with  us.  The  rest  of  the  Assembly  had  either  got  clear,  or 


58  THE    RED    COCKADE 

wen-  viewing  the  fracas  from  the  door  of  the  chapter-house, 
win- iv  they  stood,  cut  off  from  us  by  a  wall  of  people.  1  offered 
my  arm  to  M.  <1<-  (Juiitaiit,  hut  he  declined  it  with  a  frigid  how. 
and  t'>«.k  Ilarincourt's  ;  and  M.  le  Marquis,  when  I  turned  to 
liim.  said,  with  a  cold  smile,  that  they  need  not  trouble  me. 

"  Doubtless  we  shall  be  safe,"  he  sneered,  "if  you  will  give 
orders  to  that  effect." 

I  bowed,  without  retorting  on  him  ;  he  bowed,  and  he  turned 
away.  But  the  crowd  had  either  read  his  attitude  aright,  or 
gathered  that  there  was  an  altercation  between  us,  for  the  mo- 
ment he  moved  they  set  up  a  howl.  Two  or  three  stones  were 
thrown,  notwithstanding  Buton's  efforts  to  prevent  it;  and  lie- 
fore  the  party  had  retired  ten  yards  the  rabble  began  to  press 
on  them  savagely.  Embarrassed  by  M.  do  (Jontaut's  presence 
and  helplessness,  the  other  three  could  do  nothing.  For  an  in- 
stant I  had  a  view  of  St.  Alais  standing  gallantly  at  bay  with  the 
old  noble  behind  him,  and  the  blood  trickling  down  his  cheek. 
Then  I  followed  them ;  the  crowd  made  instant  way  for  me. 
Again  the  air  rang  with  cheers,  and  the  square,  in  the  hot  July 
sunshine,  seemed  a  sea  of  waving  hands. 

M.  de  St.  Alais  turned  to  me.  He  could  still  smile,  and,  with 
marvellous  self-command,  in  one  and  the  same  instant  he  re- 
covered from  his  discomfiture  and  changed  his  tactics. 

"  I  am  afraid  that  after  all  we  must  trouble  you,"  he  said,  po- 
litely. "  M.  le  Baron  is  not  a  young  man,  and  your  people,  M. 
de  Saiix,  are  somewhat  obstreperous." 

"  What  can  I  do  ?"  I  said,  sullenly.  I  had  not  the  heart  to 
leave  them  to  their  fortunes ;  at  the  same  time  I  was  as  little 
disposed  to  accept  the  onus  he  would  lay  on  me. 

••  Accompany  us  home,"  he  said,  pleasantly,  drawing  out  his 
snuffbox  and  taking  a  pineh. 

The  people  had  fallen  silent  again,  but  watched  us  heedfully. 
"  If  you  think  it  will  serve  ?"  I  answered. 

"  It  will,"  he  said,  briskly.  "You  know,  M.  le  Vicomto,  that 
a  man  is  burn  and  a  man  dies  every  minute  ?  Believe  me  no 
KiiiLC  dies — but  another  King  is  born." 

I  winced  under  the  sarcasm,  under  the  laughing  contempt  "f 
his  eye.  Yet  I  saw  nothing  for  it  but  to  comply,  and  I  bowed 


L'AMI  DU  PEUPLE  59 

and  turned  to  go  with  them.  The  crowd  opened  before  us ; 
amid  mingled  cheers  and  yells  we  moved  away.  I  intended  only 
to  accompany  them  to  the  outskirts  of  the  throng,  and  then  to 
gain  the  inn  by  a  by-path,  get  my  horses,  and  be  gone.  But  a 
party  of  the  crowd  continued  to  follow  us  through  the  streets, 
and  I  found  no  opportunity.  Almost  before  I  knew  it  we  were 
at  the  St.  Alais  door,  still  with  this  rough  attendance  at  our  heels. 

Madame  and  mademoiselle,  with  two  or  three  women,  were 
on  the  balcony,  looking  and  listening ;  at  the  door  below  stood 
a  group  of  scared  servants.  While  I  looked,  however,  madame 
left  her  place  above  and  in  a  moment  appeared  at  the  door,  the 
servants  making  way  for  her.  She  stared  in  wonder  at  us,  and 
from  us  to  the  rabble  that  followed ;  then  her  eye  caught  the 
bloodstains  on  M.  de  St.  Alais's  cravat,  and  she  cried  out  to 
know  if  he  were  hurt. 

"  No,  madame,"  he  said,  lightly.  "  But  M.  de  Gontaut  has 
had  a  fall." 

"  What  has  happened  ?"  she  asked,  quickly.  "  The  town 
seems  to  have  gone  mad  !  I  heard  a  great  noise  a  while  ago, 
and  the  servants  brought  in  a  wild  tale  about  the  Bastille." 

"  It  is  true." 

"  What  ?     That  the  Bastille—" 

"  Has  been  taken  by  the  mob,  madame  ;  and  M.  de  Launay 
murdered." 

"  Impossible  !"  madame  cried,  with  flashing  eyes.  "  That 
old  man  ?" 

"  Yes,"  M.  de  St.  Alais  answered,  with  treacherous  severity. 
"  Messieurs  the  Mob  are  no  respecters  of  persons.  Fortunately, 
however,"  he  went  on,  smiling  at  me  in  a  way  that  brought  the 
blood  to  my  cheeks,  "  they  have  leaders  more  prudent  and  saga- 
cious than  themselves." 

But  madame  had  no  ears  for  his  last  words,  no  thought  save 
of  this  astonishing  news  from  Paris.  She  stood,  her  cheeks  on 
fire,  her  eyes  full  of  tears ;  she  had  known  De  Launay.  "  Oh, 
but  the  King  will  punish  them  !"  she  cried  at  last.  "  The 
wretches  !  The  ingrates  !  They  should  all  be  broken  on  the 
wheel !  Doubtless  the  King  has  already  punished  them." 
.  "  He  will,  by-and-by,  if  he  has  not  yet,"  St.  Alais  answered. 


60  THE    RED    COCKADE 

"  But  for  the  moment  you  will  easily  understand,  madame,  that 
things  are  out  of  joint.  Men's  heads  are  turned,  and  they  do 
not  know  themselves.  "We  have  had  a  little  trouble  here.  M. 
de  Gontaut  has  been  roughly  handled,  and  I  have  not  entirely 
escaped.  If  M.  de  Saux  had  not  had  his  people  well  in  hand," 
he  continued,  turning  to  me  with  a  laughing  eye,  "  I  am  afraid 
that  we  should  have  come  off  worse." 

Madame  stared  at  me,  and,  beginning  slowly  to  comprehend, 
seemed  to  freeze  before  me.  The  light  died  out  of  her  haughty 
face.  She  looked  at  me  grimly.  I  had  a  glimpse  of  mademoi- 
selle's startled  eyes  behind  her,  and  of  the  peeping  servants; 
then  madame  spoke.  "  Are  these  some  of — M.  de  Saux's  peo- 
ple ?"  she  asked,  stepping  forward  a  pace,  and  pointing  to  the 
crew  of  ruffians  who  had  halted  a  few  paces  away,  and  were 
watching  us  doubtfully. 

"A  handful,"  M.  de  St.  Alais  answered,  lightly.  "Just  his 
body-guard,  madame.  But  pray  do  not  speak  of  him  so  harsh- 
ly ;  for,  being  my  mother,  you  must  be  obliged  to  him.  If  he 
did  not  quite  save  my  life,  at  least  he  saved  my  beauty." 

"  With  those  ?"  she  said,  scornfully. 

••  With  those  or  from  those,"  he  answered,  gayly.  "  Besides, 
for  a  day  or  two  we  may  need  his  protection.  I  am  sure  that, 
if  you  ask  him,  madame,  he  will  not  refuse  it." 

I  stood,  raging  and  helpless,  under  the  lash  of  his  tongue ; 
and  Madame  de  St.  Alais  looked  at  me.  "  Is  it  possible,"  she 
said  at  last,  "  that  M.  de  Saux  has  thrown  in  his  lot  with 
wretches  such  as  those?"  And  she  pointed,  with  magnificent 
scorn,  to  the  scowling  crew  behind  me.  "  With  wretches 
who—" 

••  Hush,  madame,"  M.  le  Marquis  said,  in  liis  gibing  fashion. 
"  You  are  too  bold.  For  the  moment  they  are  our  masters,  and 
M.  <le  Saux  is  theirs.  We  must,  therefore — " 

••  We  must  not !"  she  answered,  impetuously,  raising  herself  t<> 
her  full  height,  and  speaking  with  flashing  eye.    "  What  ?    Would 
you  have  me  palter  with  the  scum  of  the  streets?    With  the  dirt 
under  our  feet '.     With  the  sweepings  of  the  gutter?     Ne\ 
I  and  mine  have  no  part  with  traitors !" 

•   Madame  !"  I  cried,  stung  to  speech  by  her  injustice.    "  You 


L'AMI  DU  PEUPLE  61 

do  not  know  what  you  say  !  If  I  have  been  able  to  stand  be- 
tween your  son  and  danger,  it  has  been  through  no  vileness 
such  as  you  impute  to  me." 

"  Impute  !"  she  exclaimed.  "  What  need  of  imputation, 
monsieur,  with  those  wretches  behind  you  ?  Is  it  necessary  to 
cry  'A  bas  le  roi !'  to  be  a  traitor  ?  Is  not  that  man  as  guilty 
who  fosters  false  hopes  and  misleads  the  ignorant?  Who 
hints  what  he  dare  not  say,  and  holds  out  what  he  dare  not 
promise  ?  Is  he  not  the  worst  of  traitors !  For  shame,  mon- 
sieur, for  shame  !"  she  continued.  "  If  your  father — " 

"  Oh  !"  I  cried.     "  This  is  intolerable  !" 

She  caught  me  up  with  a  bitter  gibe.  "It  is  !"  she  retorted. 
"  It  is  intolerable — that  the  King's  fortresses  should  be  taken 
by  the  rabble,  and  old  men  slain  by  scullions  !  It  is  intolerable 
that  nobles  should  forget  whence  they  are  sprung,  and  stoop  to 
the  kennel !  It  is  intolerable  that  the  King's  name  should  be 
flouted,  and  catchwords  set  above  it!  All  these  things  are  in- 
tolerable ;  but  they  are  not  of  our  doing.  They  are  your  acts. 
And  for  you,"  she  continued — and,  suddenly  stepping  by  me, 
she  addressed  the  group  of  rascals  who  lingered,  listening  and 
scowling,  a  few  paces  away — "for  you,  poor  fools,  do  not  be 
deceived.  This  gentleman  has  told  you,  doubtless,  that  there  is 
no  longer  a  King  of  France!  That  there  are  to  be  no  more  taxes 
nor  corvees  ;  that  the  poor  will  be  rich,  and  everybody  noble  ! 
Well,  believe  him  if  you  please.  There  have  been  poor  and 
rich,  noble  and  simple,  spenders  and  makers,  since  the  world 
began,  and  a  King  in  France.  But  believe  him  if  yon  please. 
Only  now  go  !  Leave  my  house.  Go,  or  I  will  call  out  my  ser- 
vants, and  whip  you  through  the  streets  like  dogs  !  To  your 
kennels,  I  say  !" 

She  stamped  her  foot,  and,  to  my  astonishment,  the  men,  who 
must  have  known  that  her  threat  was  an  empty  one,  sneaked 
away  like  the  dogs  to  which  she  had  compared  them.  In  a 
moment — I  could  scarcely  believe  it — the  street  was  empty. 
The  men  who  had  come  near  to  killing  M.  de  Gontaut,  who  had 
stoned  M.  de  St.  Alais,  quailed  before  a  woman  !  In  a  twin- 
kling the  last  man  was  gone,  and  she  turned  to  me,  her  face 
flushed,  her  eyes  gleaming  with  scorn. 


til'  TMK     KKI)    COCKADE 

"  There,  sir,"  she  said,  "  take  that  lesson  to  heart.  That  is 
your  brave  people !  And  now,  monsieur,  do  you  go,  too  ! 
Henceforth  ray  house  is  no  place  for  you.  I  will  have  no  trai- 
tors under  my  roof — no,  not  for  a  moment." 

She  signed  to  me  to  go  with  the  same  insolent  contempt  which 
had  abashed  the  crowd;  but  before  I  went  I  said  out-  word. 
"  You  were  my  father's  friend,  madame,"  I  said,  before  them 
all. 

She  looked  at  me  harshly,  but  did  not  answer. 

"  It  would  have  better  become  you,  therefore,"  I  continued, 
'•  to  help  me  than  to  hurt  me.  As  it  is,  were  I  the  most  loyal 
of  His  Majesty's  subjects,  you  have  done  enough  to  drive  me  to 
treason.  In  the  future,  Madame  la  Marquise,  I  beg  that  you 
will  remember  that." 

And  I  turned  and  went,  trembling  with  rage. 

The  crowd  in  the  square  had  melted  by  this  time,  but  the 
streets  were  full  of  those  who  had  composed  it;  who  now  stood 
about  in  eager  groups,  discussing  what  had  happened.  The 
\\ord  Bastille  was  on  every  tongue  ;  and,  as  I  passed,  way  \\as 
made  for  me,  and  caps  were  lifted.  "God  bless  you,  M.  de 
Saux,"  and  "You  are  a  good  man,"  were  muttered  in  mv  ear. 
If  there  seemed  to  be  less  noise  and  less  excitement  than  in  the 
morning,  the  air  of  purpose  that  everywhere  prevailed  was  not 
to  be  mistaken. 

This  was  so  clear  that,  though  noon  was  barely  past,  shop- 
keepers had  closed  their  shops  and  bakers  their  bakehoi; 
and  a  calm,  more  ominous  than  the  storm  that  had  preceded  it, 
brooded  over  the  town.  The  majority  of  the  Assembly  had 
dispersed  in  haste,  for  I  saw  none  of  the  members,  though  I 
heard  that  a  large  body  had  gone  to  the  barracks.  No  one  mo- 
lested me — the  fall  of  the  Hastille  served  me  so  far — and  1 
mounted,  and  rode  out  of  town  without  seeing  any  one,  even 
Louis. 

To  tell  the  truth,!  was  in  a  fever  to  be  at  home;  in  a  fever 
to  consult  the  only  man  who,  it  seemed  to  me,  could  advise  mo 
in  this  crisis.  In  front  of  me,  I  saw  it  plainly,  stretched  two 
roads,  the  one  easv  and  smooth,  if  perilous,  the  other  and 
and  toilsome.  Madame  had  called  me  the  Tribune  of  the  iVo- 


ne.c.w 


"  SHE   STAMPED   HER   FOOT.       '  TO   TOtTR   KENNELS,  I    SAY  !'  " 


L  AMI    DU    PEUPLE  65 

pie,  a  would-be  Retz,  a  would-be  Mirabeau.  The  people  had 
cried  my  name,  had  hailed  me  as  a  savior.  Should  I  fit  on  the 
cap  ?  Should  I  take  up  the  role  ?  My  own  caste  had  spurned 
me.  Should  I  snatch  at  the  dangerous  honor  offered  to  me,  and 
stand  or  fall  with  the  people  ? 

With  the  people  ?  It  sounded  well,  but  in  those  days  it  was 
a  vaguer  phrase  than  it  is  now ;  and  I  asked  myself  who  that 
had  ever  taken  up  that  cause  had  stood  ?  A  bread-riot,  a  tumult, 
a  local  revolt — such  as  this  which  had  cost  M.  de  Launay  his 
life — of  things  of  that  size  the  people  had  shown  themselves 
capable  ;  but  of  no  lasting  victory.  Always  the  King  had  held 
his  own,  always  the  nobles  had  kept  their  privileges.  Why 
should  it  be  otherwise  now  ? 

There  were  reasons.  Yes,  truly  ;  but  they  seemed  less  co- 
gent, the  weight  of  precedent  against  them  heavier,  when  I 
came  to  think,  with  a  trembling  heart,  of  acting  on  them.  And 
the  odium  of  deserting  my  order  was  no  small  matter  to  face. 
Hitherto  I  had  been  innocent ;  if  they  had  put  out  the  lip  at 
me,  they  had  done  it  wrongfully.  But  if  I  accepted  this  part, 
the  part  they  assigned  to  me,  I  must  be  prepared  to  face  not 
only  the  worst  in  case  of  failure,  but  in  success  to  be  a  pariah. 
To  be  Tribune  of  the  People,  and  an  outcast  from  my  kind  ! 

I  rode  hard  to  keep  pace  with  these  thoughts,  and  I  did  not 
doubt  that  I  should  be  the  first  to  bring  the  tale  to  Saux.  But 
in  those  days  nothing  was  more  marvellous  than  the  speed  with 
which  news  of  this  kind  crossed  the  country.  It  passed  from 
mouth  to  mouth,  from  eye  to  eye  ;  the  air  seemed  to  carry  it. 
It  went  before  the  quickest  traveller. 

Everywhere,  therefore,  I  found  it  known.  Known  by  people 
who  had  stood  for  days  at  cross-roads,  waiting  for  they  knew 
not  what;  known  by  scowling  men  on  village  bridges,  who 
talked  in  low  voices  and  eyed  the  towers  of  the  chateau  ;  known 
by  stewards  and  agents,  men  of  the  stamp  of  Gargouf,  who 
smiled  incredulously,  or  talked,  like  Madame  St.  Alais,  of  the 
King,  and  how  good  he  was,  and  how  many  he  would  hang  for 
it.  Known,  last  of  all,  by  Father  Benoit,  the  man  I  would  con- 
sult. He  met  me  at  the  gate  of  the  chateau,  opposite  the  place 
where  the  carcan  had  stood.  It  was  too  dark  to  see  his  face, 

4 


06 

l>ut  I  knew  the  fall  of  his  soutane  and  the  shape  of  his  hat. 
I  sent  on  Gil  and  Andre,  and  he  walked  beside  me  up  the  ave- 
nue, with  his  hand  on  the  withers  of  my  horse. 

"  Well,  M.  le  Vicomte,  it  has  come  at  last,"  he  said. 

"  You  have  heard  .'" 

"  Buton  told  me." 

"  What  ?  Is  he  here  ?"  I  said  in  surprise.  "  I  saw  him  at 
Cahors  less  than  three  hours  ago." 

"  Such  news  gives  a  man  wings,"  Father  Benoit  answered, 
with  energy.  "  I  say  again,  it  has  come.  It  has  come,  M.  le 
Vicomte." 

"  Something,"  I  said,  prudently. 

"Everything,"  he  answered,  confidently.  "The  mob  took 
the  Bastille,  but  who  headed  them  ?  The  soldiers ;  the  Garde 
l'Yanc,aise.  Well,  M.  le  Vicomte,  if  the  army  cannot  be  trusted, 
there  is  an  end  of  abuses,  an  end  of  exemptions,  of  extortions, 
of  bread  famines,  of  Foulons  and  Berthiers,  of  grinding  the 
faces  of  the  poor,  of — " 

The  cure's  list  was  not  half  exhausted  when  I  cut  it  short. 
"But  if  the  army  is  with  the  mob,  where  will  things  stop  .'"  I 
said,  wearily. 

"  We  must  see  to  that,"  he  answered. 

"Come  and  sup  with  me,"  I  said;  "  I  have  something  to  tell 
you,  and  more  to  ask  you." 

!!'•  assented  gladly.  "For  there  will  be  no  sleep  forme  to- 
night," he  said,  his  eye  sparkling.  "This  is  great  news,  glo- 
rious news,  M.  1 1'  Vicomte.  Your  father  would  have  heard  it 
with  j<>\." 

\ii<l  M.  ilc  Lannay  ?"  I  said,  as  I  dismounted. 

"Tin-re  <-an  l>e  no  change  without  suffering,"  he  answered, 
Btontly,  though  his  face  fell  a  little.  "His  fathers  sinned,  and 
he  has  paid  the  penalty.  But  God  rest  his  soul !  I  have  heard 
that  he  was  a  good  man." 

"And  died  in  his  duty,"  I  said,  rather  tartly. 
'  "Amen,"  Father  Benoit  answered. 

Vet  it  was  not  until  we  were  sitting  down  in  the  Chestnut  Parlor 
(which  the  servants  called  the  English  Room),  and,  with  candles 
us,  were    busy  with   our  cheese   and   fruit,  that  I  aj»- 


L'AMI  DU  PEUPLE  67 

predated  to  the  full  the  impression  which  the  news  had  made 
on  the  cure.  Then,  as  he  talked,  as  he  told  and  listened,  his 
long  limbs  and  lean  form  trembled  with  excitement ;  his  thin 
face  worked.  "  It  is  the  end,"  he  said.  "  You  may  depend 
upon  it,  M.  le  Vicomte,  it  is  the  end.  Your  father  told  me 
many  times  that  in  money  lay  the  secret  of  power.  Money,  he 
used  to  say,  pays  the  army,  the  army  secures  all.  A  while  ago 
the  money  failed.  Now  the  army  fails.  There  is  nothing  left." 

"  The  King  ?"  I  said,  unconsciously  quoting  Madame  la 
Marquise. 

"  God  bless  His  Majesty  !"  the  cure  answered,  heartily.  "  He 
means  well,  and  now  he  will  be  able  to  do  well,  because  the  na- 
tion will  be  with  him.  But  without  the  nation,  without  money 
or  an  army — a  name  only.  And  the  name  did  not  save  the 
Bastille."  " 

Then,  beginning  with  the  scene  at  Madame  de  St.  Alais's  re- 
ception, I  told  him  all  that  had  happened  to  me — the  oath  of 
the  sword,  the  debate  in  the  Assembly,  the  tumult  in  the  square; . 
last  of  all,  the  harsh  words  with  which  madame  had  given  me 
my  conge — all.  As  he  listened  he  was  extraordinarily  moved. 
When  I  described  the  scene  in  the  Chamber  he  could  not  be 
still,  but  in  his  enthusiasm  walked  about  the  parlor  muttering. 
And  when  I  told  him  how  the  crowd  had  cried  "Vive  Saux  !" 
he  repeated  the  words  softly,  and  looked  at  me  with  delighted 
eyes.  But  when  I  came — halting  somewhat  in  my  speech,  and 
coloring  and  playing  with  my  bread  to  hide  my  disorder — to 
tell  him  my  thoughts  on  the  way  home,  and  the  choice  that  as 
it  seemed  to  me  was  offered  to  me,  he  sat  down,  and  fell  also 
to  crumbling  his  bread,  and  was  silent. 


CHAPTER  V 
THE    DEPUTATION 

HE  sat  silent  so  long,  with  his  eyes  on  the  table,  that  pres- 
ently I  grew  nettled,  wondering  what  ailed  him,  and  why  he  did 
not  speak  and  say  the  things  that  I  expected.  I  had  been  so 
confident  of  the  advice  he  would  give  me  that  from  the  first  I 
had  tinged  my  story  with  the  appropriate  color.  I  had  let  my 
bitterness  be  seen  ;  I  had  suppressed  no  scornful  word,  but 
supplied  him  with  all  the  ground  he  could  desire  for  giving  me 
the  advice  I  supposed  to  be  upon  his  lips. 

And  yet  he  did  not  speak.  A  hundred  times  I  had  heard 
him  declare  his  sympathy  with  the  people,  his  hatred  of  the 
corruption,  the  selfishness,  the  abuses  of  the  government ;  with- 
in the  hour  I  had  seen  his  eye  kindle  as  he  spoke  of  the  fall  of 
the  Bastille.  It  was  at  his  word  I  had  burned  the  carcan  ;  at 
his  instance  I  had  spent  a  large  sum  in  feeding  the  village 
during  the  famine  of  the  past  year.  Yet  now  —  now,  when 
1  expected  him  to  rise  up  and  bid  me  do  my  part,  lie  was 
silent ! 

I  had  to  speak  at  last.  "Well?"  I  said,  irritably.  "  II.-uv 
you  nothing  to  say,  M.  le  Cure  ?"  And  I  moved  one  of  the  can- 
dles, so  as  to  get  a  better  view  of  his  features.  But  he  still 
looked  down  at  the  table,  he  still  avoided  my  eye,  his  thin  face 
thoughtful,  his  hand  toying  with  the  crumbs. 

At  last,  "  M.  le  Vicomte,"  he  said,  softly,  "  through  my  moth- 
er's mother  I,  too,  am  noble." 

I  gasped  ;  not  at  the  fact,  with  which  I  was  familiar,  but  at 
the  application  I  thought  lie  intended.  "  And  for  that,"  I  said, 
amazed,  "  you  would — 

He  raised  his  hand  to  stop  me.     "  No,"  he  said,  gently,  "  I 


THE    DEPUTATION  69 

would  not.  Because,  for  all  that,  I  am  of  the  people  by  birth, 
and  of  the  poor  by  my  calling.  But — " 

"  But  what  ?"  I  said,  peevishly. 

Instead  of  answering  me,  he  rose  from  his  seat,  and,  taking 
up  one  of  the  candles,  turned  to  the  panelled  wall  behind  him, 
on  which  hung  a  full-length  portrait  of  my  father,  framed  in  a 
curious  border  of  carved  foliage.  He  read  the  name  below  it. 
"  Antoine  du  Pont,  Vicomte  de  Saux,"  he  said,  as  if  to  himself. 
"  He  was  a  good  man,  and  a  friend  to  the  poor.  God  keep 
him." 

He  lingered  a  moment,  gazing  at  the  grave,  handsome  face, 
and  doubtless  recalling  many  things ;  then  he  passed,  holding 
the  candle  aloft,  to  another  picture,  which  flanked  the  table ; 
each  wall  boasted  one.  "  Adrien  du  Pont,  Vicomte  de  Saux," 
he  read,  "Colonel  of  the  Regiment  Flamande.  He  was  killed,  I 
think,  at  Minden.  Knight  of  St.  Louis,  and  of  the  King's  bed- 
chamber. A  handsome  man,  and  doubtless  a  gallant  gentle- 
man. I  never  knew  him." 

I  answered  nothing,  but  my  face  began  to  burn  as  he  passed 
to  a  third  picture  behind  me.  "  Antoine  du  Pont,  Vicomte  de 
Saux,"  he  read,  holding  up  the  candle,  "  Marshal  and  Peer  of 
France,  Knight  of  the  King's  Orders,  a  Colonel  of  the  House- 
hold, and  of  the  King's  Council.  Died  of  the  plague  at  Genoa, 
in  1710.  I  think  I  have  heard  that  he  married  a  Rohan." 

He  looked  long,  then  passed  to  the  fourth  wall,  and  stood  a 
moment  quite  silent.  "  And  this  one  ?"  he  said,  at  last.  "  He, 
I  think,  has  the  noblest  face  of  all.  Antoine,  Seigneur  du  Pont 
de  Saux,  of  the  order  of  St.  John  of  Jerusalem,  Preceptor  of  the 
French  tongue.  Died  at  Valetta  in  the  year  after  the  Great 
Siege — of  his  wounds,  some  say  ;  of  incredible  labors  and  exer- 
tions, say  the  order.  A  Christian  soldier." 

It  was  the  last  picture,  and  after  gazing  at  it  a  moment  he 
brought  the  candle  back  and  set  it  down  with  its  two  fellows 
on  the  shining  table  ;  that,  with  the  panelled  walls,  swallowed 
up  the  light,  and  left  only  our  faces,  white  and  bright,  with  a 
halo  round  them,  and  darkness  behind  them.  He  bowed  to  me. 
"  M.  le  Vicomte,"  he  said,  at  last,  in  a  voice  which  shook  a  little, 
"  you  come  of  a  noble  stock." 


70  TIIK     KKD     COCKADK 

1  shrugged  my  shoulders.  "  It  is  known,"  I  said.  "  And  for 
that?" 

"  I  dare  not  advise  you." 

"  But  the  cause  is  good  !"  I  cried. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  staring  at  me,  slowly.  "  I  have  been 
saying  so  all  my  life.  I  dare  not  say  otherwise  now.  But — 
the  cause  of  the  people  is  the  people's.  Leave  it  to  the  people." 

"Pou  say  that !"  I  answered,  angry  and  perplexed.  "  Von, 
who  have  told  me  a  hundred  times  that  I  am  of  the  people ! 
that  the  nobility  are  of  the  people ;  that  there  are  only  two 
things  in  France,  the  King  and  the  people  !" 

lie  smiled  somewhat  sadly,  tapping  on  the  table  with  .his 
fingers.  "  That  was  theory,"  he  said.  "  I  try  to  put  it  into 
practice,  and  my  heart  fails  me.  Because  I,  too,  have  a  little 
nobility,  M.  le  Vicomte,  and  know  what  it  is." 

"I  don't  understand  you,"  I  said,  in  despair.  "You  blow 
hot  and  cold,  M.  le  Cure.  I  told  you  just  now  that  I  spoke  for 
the  people  at  the  meeting  of  the  noblesse,  and  you  approved." 

"  It  was  nobly  done." 

"Yet  now?" 

"1  say  the  same  thing,"  Father  Ben6it  answered,  his  fine  face 
illumined  with  feeling.  "  It  was  nobly  done.  Fight  for  the  peo- 
ple, M.  le  Vicomte,  but  among  your  fellows.  Let  your  voice  be 
heard  there,  where  all  you  will  gain  for  yourself  will  be  obloquy 
and  black  looks.  But  if  it  comes,  if  it  has  come,  to  a  struggle 
between  your  class  and  the  commons,  between  the  nobility  and 
the  vulgar;  if  the  noble  must  side  with  his  fellows  or  take  the 
people's  pay,  then  " — Father  Bendit's  voice  trembled  a  little, 
and  his  thin,  white  hand  tapped  softly  on  the  table — "  I  would 
rather  see  you  ranked  with  your  kind." 

••  Against  the  people?" 

"  Yes,  against  the  people,"  he  answered,  shrinking  a  little. 

I  was  astonished.  "  Why,  great  Heaven,"  I  said,  "  the  small- 
est logic — " 

"  Ali  !"  he  answered,  shaking  his  head,  sadly,  and  looking  at 

me  with  kind  eyes.     "  There  you  beat  me;  logic  is  against  me. 

-on,  too.     The  cause  of  the  people,  the  cause  of  reform,  of 

honesty,  of  cheap  grain,  of  equal  justice,  must  be  a  good  one. 


THE    DEPUTATION  71 

And  who  forwards  it  must  be  in  the  right.  That  is  so,  M.  le 
Vicomte.  Nay,  more  than  that.  If  the  people  are  left  to  fight 
their  battle  alone,  the  danger  of  excesses  is  greater.  I  see  that. 
But  instinct  does  not  let  me  act  on  the  knowledge." 

"Yet,  M.  de  Mirabeau?"  I  said.  "I  have  heard  you  call  him 
a  great  man." 

"  It  is  true,"  Father  Benoit  answered,  keeping  his  eyes  on 
mine,  while  he  drummed  softly  on  the  table  with  his  fingers. 

"  I  have  heard  you  speak  of  him  with  admiration." 

"  Often." 

"  And  of  M.  de  Lafayette." 

"Yes." 

"  And  the  Lameths." 

M.  le  Cure  nodded. 

"  Yet  all  these,"  I  said,  stubbornly,  "  all  these  are  nobles — 
nobles  leading  the  people  !" 

"  Yes,"  he  said. 

"  And  you  do  not  blame  them  ?" 

"  No,  I  do  not  blame  them." 

"  Nay,  you  admire  them !  You  admire  them,  father,"  I  per- 
sisted, glowering  at  him. 

"  I  know  I  do,"  he  said.  "I  know  that  I  am  weak  and  a  fool. 
Perhaps  worse,  M.  le  Vicomte,  in  that  I  have  not  the  courage 
of  my  convictions.  But  though  I  admire  those  men,  though 
I  think  them  great  and  to  be  admired,  I  have  heard  men  speak 
of  them  who  thought  otherwise;  and  it  may  be  weak,  but  I 
knew  you  as  a  boy,  and  I  would  not  have  men  speak  so  of 
you.  There  are  things  we  admire  at  a  distance,"  he  continued, 
looking  at  me  a  little  drolly,  to  hide  the  affection  that  shone 
in  his  eyes,  "  which  we  nevertheless  do  not  desire  to  find  in 
those  we  love.  Odium  heaped  on  a  stranger  is  nothing  to  us; 
on  our  friends,  it  were  worse  than  death." 

He  stopped,  his  voice  trembling,  and  we  were  both  silent 
for  a  while.  Still,  I  would  not  let  him  see  how  much  his  words 
had  touched  me,  and  by-and-by — 

"  But  my  father  ?"  I  said.  "  He  was  strongly  on  the  side 
of  reform  !" 

"  Yes,  by  the  nobles,  for  the  people," 


7-  THE     RED    C'OCKADE 

"  But  the  nobles  have  cast  me  out !"  I  answered.  "  Because 
I  have  gone  a  yard,  1  have  lost  all.  Shall  I  not  go  two,  and 
win  all  back?" 

"  Win  all,"  he  said,  softly,  "but  lose  how  much  ;" 

"Yet  if  the  people  win?     And  you  say  they  will." 

••  Fven  then,  Tribune  of  the  People,"  he  answered,  gently, 
"  and  an  outcast !" 

They  were  the  very  words  I  had  applied  to  myself  as  I  n»de, 
and  I  started.  With  .sudden  vividness  I  saw  the  picture  they 
presented ;  and  I  understood  why  Father  Benoit  had  hesitated 
so  long  in  my  case.  With  the  purest  intentions  and  the  most 
upright  heart,  I  could  not  make  myself  other  than  what  I  was; 
1  should  rise,  were  my  efforts  crowned  with  success,  to  a  point 
of  splendid  isolation  :  suspected  by  the  people  whose  benefactor 
1  had  been,  hated  and  cursed  by  the  nobles  whom  I  had  deserted. 

Such  a  prospect  would  have  been  far  from  deterring  some; 
and  others  it  might  have  lured.  But  I  found  myself,  in  this 
moment  of  clear  vision,  no  hero.  Old  prejudices  stirred  in 
the  blood;  old  traditions,  born  of  centuries  of  precedence  and 
privilege,  awoke  in  the  memory.  A  shiver  of  douht  and  mis- 
trust— such  as,  I  suppose,  has  tormented  reformers  from  the 
first,  and  caused  all  but  the  hardiest  to  flinch — passed  through 
me  as  I  gazed  across  the  candles  at  the  cure.  I  feared  the 
people — the  unknown.  The  howl  of  exultation,  that  had  rent 
the  air  in  the  market-place  at  Cahors,  the  brutal  cries  that 
had  hailed  Gontaut's  fall,  rang  again  in  my  ears.  I  shrank 
back,  as  a  man  shrinks  who  finds  himself  on  the  brink  of  an 
ahvss,  and  through  the  wavering  mist,  parted  for  a  brief  in- 
stant by  the  wind,  sees  the  cruel  rocks  and  jagged  points  that 
wait  for  him  below. 

It  was  a  moment  of  extraordinary  prevision  once  more,  and 
though  it  passed  and  speedily  left  me  conscious  of  the  silent 
room  and  the  good  cure  —  who  affected  to  be  snuffing  one 
of  the  long  candles — the  effect  it  produced  on  my  mind  con- 
tinued. After  Father  Ileiiuit  had  taken  his  leave  and  the  house 
\\a-~  closed,  I  walked  for  an  hour  up  and  down  the  walnut 
avenue,  now  standing  to  gaze  between  the  open  iron  gates 
that  gave  upon  the  road,  now  turning  my  back  on  them,  and 


THE    DEPUTATION  73 

staring  at  the  gray,  gaunt,  steep-roofed  house  with  its  flanking 
tower  and  round  tourelles. 

Henceforth,  I  made  up  my  mind,  I  would  stand  aside.  I 
would  welcome  reform,  I  would  do  in  private  what  I  could  to 
forward  it ;  but  I  would  not  a  second  time  set  myself  against 
my  fellows.  I  had  had  the  courage  of  my  opinions.  Hence- 
forth no  man  could  say  that  I  had  hidden  them ;  but  after  this 
I  would  stand  aside  and  watch  the  course  of  events. 

A  cock  crowed  at  the  rear  of  the  house  —  untimely;  and 
across  the  hushed  fields,  through  the  dusk,  came  the  barking 
of  a  distant  dog.  As  I  stood  listening,  while  the  solemn  stars 
gazed  down,  the  slight  which  St.  Alais  had  put  upon  me 
dwindled  —  dwindled  to  its  true  dimensions.  I  thought  of 
Mademoiselle  Denise,  of  the  bride  I  had  lost,  with  a  faint  regret 
that  was  almost  amusement.  What  would  she  think  of  this 
sudden  rupture,  I  wondered.  Of  this  strange  loss  of  her  fiance? 
Would  it  awaken  her  curiosity,  her  interest?  Or  would  she, 
fresh  from  her  convent  school,  think  that  things  in  the  world 
went  commonly  so — that  fiances  came  and  passed,  and  recep- 
tions found  their  natural  end  in  riot  ? 

I  laughed  softly,  pleased  that  I  had  made  up  my  mind. 
But,  had  I  known,  as  I  listened  to  the  rustling  of  the  poplars 
in  the  road  and  the  sounds  that  came  out  of  the  darkened 
world  beyond  them,  what  was  passing  there  —  had  I  known 
that,  I  should  have  felt  even  greater  satisfaction.  For  this 
was  Wednesday,  the  22d  of  July  ;  and  that  night  Paris  still 
palpitated  after  viewing  strange  things.  For  the  first  time 
she  had  heard  the  horrid  cry,  "  A  la  lanterne !"  and  seen  a 
man,  old  and  white-headed,  hanged  and  tortured  until  death 
freed  him.  She  had  seen  another,  the  very  Intendant  of  the 
City,  flung  down,  trampled,  and  torn  to  pieces  in  his  own 
streets  —  publicly,  in  full  day,  in  the  presence  of  thousands. 
She  had  seen  these  things',  trembling;  and  other  things  also — 
things  that  had  made  the  cheeks  of  reformers  grow  pale,  and  be- 
trayed to  all  thinking  men  that  below  Lafayette,  below  Baillv, 
below  the  Municipality  and  the  Electoral  Committee,  roared  and 
seethed  the  awakened  forces  of  the  faubourgs,  of  St.  Antoine 
and  St.  Marceau  ! 


74  THE    RED    COCKADE 

\Vliat  could  he  expected,  what  was  to  be  expected,  but  that 
such  outrage's,  remaining  unpunished,  should  spread.  Within 
a  week  the  provinces  followed  the  lead  of  I'aris.  Already, 
on  the  21st,  the  mob  of  Strasbourg  had  sacked  the  Hotel  de 
Ville  and  destroyed  the  archives;  and  during  the  same  week 
the  Bastilles  at  Bordeaux  and  Caen  were  taken  and  destroyed. 
At  Rouen,  at  Kennes,  at  Lyons,  at  St.  Mal<>,  were  great  riots, 
with  lighting;  and  nearer  I'aris,  at  1'oissy  and  St.  Germain, 
the  populace  hung  the  millers.  But  as  far  as  Cahors  was  con- 
cerned, it  was  not  until  the  astonishing  tidings  of  the  King's 
surrender  reached  us,  a  few  days  later  —  tidings  that  on  the 
17th  of  July  he  had  entered  insurgent  Paris  and  tamely  ac- 
quiesced in  the  destruction  of  the  Bastille  —  it  was  not  until 
that  news  reached  us,  and  hard  on  its  heels  a  rumor  of  the 
second  rising  on  the  22d,  and  the  slaughter  of  Foulon  and 
Berthier — it  was  not  until  then,  I  say,  that  the  country  round 
us  began  to  be  moved.  Father  Benoit,  with  a  face  of  aston- 
ishment and  doubt,  brought  me  the  tidings,  and  we  walked  on 
the  terrace  discussing  it.  Probably  reports,  containing  more 
or  less  of  the  truth,  had1-  reached  the  city  before,  and,  giving 
men  something  else  to  think  of,  had  saved  me  from  challenge 
or  molestation.  But  in  the  country,  where  I  had  spent  the 
week  iii  moody  unrest,  and  not  unfrequently  reversing  in  the 
morning  the  decision  at  which  I  had  arrived  in  the  night,  I 
had  heard  nothing  until  the  cure  came — I  think  on  the  morn- 
ing of  the  29th  of  July. 

"And  what  do  you  think  now?"  I  said,  thoughtfully,  when 
I  had  listened  to  his  tale. 

"Only  what  I  did  before,"  he  answered,  stoutly.  "It  has 
eome.  Without  money,  and,  therefore,  without  soldiers  who 
will  light,  with  a  starving  people,  with  men's  minds  full  of 
theories  and  abstractions  that  all  tend  towards  change,  what 
can  a  government  do?" 

"Apparently  it  can  cease  to  govern,"  I  said,  tartly;  "and 
that  is  not  what  any  one  wants." 

"There  must  be  a  period  of  unrest,"  he  replied,  but  less 
confidently.  "The  forces  of  order,  however,  the  forces  of  tin- 
law,  have  always  triumphed.  I  don't  doubt  that  they  will  again." 


THE    DEPUTATION  75 

"After  a  period  of  unrest?" 

"  Yes,"  he  answered.  "  After  a  period  of  unrest.  And  I 
confess  I  wish  that  we  were  through  that.  But  we  must  be 
of  good  heart,  M.  le  Vicomte.  We  must  trust  the  people ;  we 
must  confide  in  their  good  sense,  their  capacity  for  govern- 
ment, their  moderation — " 

I  had  to  interrupt  him.  "What  is  it,  Gil?"  I  said,  with  a 
gesture  of  apology.  The  servant  had  come  out  of  the  house 
and  was  waiting  to  speak  to  me. 

"  M.  Doury,  M.  le  Vicomte,  from  Cahors,"  he  answered. 

"The  innkeeper?" 

"  Yes,  monsieur,  and  Buton.     They  ask  to  see  you." 

"  Together  ?"  I  said.     It  seemed  a  strange  conjunction. 

"  Yes,  monsieur." 

"  Well,  show  therri*  here,"  I  answered,  after  consulting  my 
companion's  face.  "  But  Doury  ?  1  paid  my  bill.  What  can 
he  want?" 

"  We  shall  see,"  Father  Benoit  answered,  his  eyes  on  the 
door.  "  Here  they  come.  Ah  !  now,  M.  le  Vicomte,"  he  con- 
tinued in  a  lower  tone,  "  I  feel  less  confident." 

I  suppose  he  guessed  something  akin  to  the  truth ;  but  for 
my  part  I  was  completely  at  a  loss.  The  innkeeper,  a  sleek, 
complaisant  man,  of  whom,  though  I  had  known  him  some 
years,  I  had  never  seen  much  beyond  the  crown  of  his  head, 
nor  ever  thought  of  him  as  apart  from  his  guests  and  his  ordi- 
nary, wore,  as  he  advanced,  a  strange  motley  of  dignity  and 
subservience ;  now  strutting  with  pursed  lips  and  an  air  of 
extreme  importance,  and  now  stooping  to  bow  in  a  shamefaced 
and  half-hearted  manner.  His  costume  was  as  great  a  surprise 
as  his  appearance,  for,  instead  of  his  citizen's  suit  of  black  he 
sported  a  blue  coat  with  gold  buttons,  and  a  canary  waistcoat, 
and  he  carried  a  gold-headed  cane — sober  splendors,  which, 
nevertheless,  paled  before  two  large  bunches  of  ribbons,  white, 
red,  and  blue,  which  he  wore,  one  on  his  breast,  and  one  in 
his  hat. 

His  companion,  who  followed  a  foot  or  two  behind,  his  giant 
frame  and  sunburnt  face  setting  off  the  citizen's  plumpness,  was 
similarly  bedizened.  But  though  beribboned  and  in  strange 


70  THE    KED    COCKADE 

company,  lie  was  still  Buton,  the  smith.  His  face  reddened 
as  he  met  my  eyes,  and  he  shielded  himself  as  well  as  he  could 
behind  Doury's  form. 

"Good-morning,  Donry,"  I  said.  I  could  have  laughed  at 
the  awkward  complaisance  of  the  man's  manner  if  something 
in  the  gravity  of  the  cure's  face  had  not  restrained  me.  "  What 
brings  you  to  Saux?"  I  continued.  "And  what  can  I  do  for 

"  If  it  please  you,  M.  le  Vicomte,"  he  began.  Then  he 
paused,  and,  straightening  himself — for  habit  had  bent  his  l»a«'k 
— he  continued,  abruptly,  "  Public  business,  monsieur.  And  to 
have  the  honor  of  conferring  with  you  on  it." 

"  With  me  ?"  I  said,  amazed.     "  On  public  business  ?" 

He  smiled  in  a  sickly  way,  but  stuck  to  his  text.  "  Kvn 
so,  monsieur,"  he  said.  "  There  are  such'  great  changes,  and — 
and  so  great  need  of  advice — " 

"That  I  ought  not  to  wonder  at  M.  Doury  seeking  it  at 
Saux?" 

"  Even  so,  monsieur." 

I  did  not  try  to  hide  my  contempt  and  amusement ;  but 
shrugged  my  shoulders,  and  looked  at  the  cure. 

"  Well,"  I  said,  after  a  moment  of  silence,  "and  what  is  it  ? 
Have  you  been  selling  bad  wine  ?  Or  do  you  want  the  number 
of  courses  limited  by  Act  of  the  States-General  ?  Or — " 

••  Monsieur,"  he  said,  drawing  himself  up  with  an  attempt  at 
diijnitv,  "  this  is  no  time  for  jesting.  In  the  present  crisis  inn- 
krrpers  have  as  much  at  stake  as,  with  reverence,  the  noblesse; 
and  deserted  by  those  who  should  lead  them — " 

"  What,  the  innkeepers?"  I  cried. 

He  grew  as  red  as  a  beetroot.  "  M.  le  Vicomte  understands 
that  I  mean  the  people,"  he  said,  stiffly.  "  Who,  deserted,  I 
say,  l>y  their  natural  leaders — " 

•'  For  instance?" 

"  Nf.  ](.'.  Due  d'Artois,  M.  le  Prince  de  Conde,  M.  le  Due  de 
J'nliirnai-,  M.— " 

••  Hah  '."    I  said.      "  II. iw  have  tlu-y  deserted?" 

"Pardien,  monsieur!      Have  you  not  heard?" 

"  Have  I  not  heard  what?" 


"  HIS   COSTUME   WAS   AS   GREAT   A   SURPRISE   AS  HIS   APPEARANCE  " 


THE    DEPUTATION  79 

"  That  they  have  left  France  ?  That  on  the  night  of  the 
17th,  three  days  after  the  capture  of  the  Bastille,  the  princes 
of  the  blood  left  France  by  stealth,  and — " 

"  Impossible  !"  I  said.  "  Impossible  !  Why  should  they 
leave  ?" 

"  That  is  the  very  question,  M.  le  Vicomte,"  he  answered, 
with  eager  forwardness,  "  that  is  being  asked.  Some  say  that 
they  thought  to  punish  Paris  by  withdrawing  from  it.  Some 
that  they  did  it  to  show  their  disapproval  of  His  Most  Gracious 
Majesty's  amnesty,  which  was  announced  on  that  day.  Some 
that  they  stand  in  fear.  Some  even  that  they  anticipated 
Foulon's  fate — " 

"Fool !"  I  cried,  stopping  him  sternly — for  I  found  this  too 
much  for  my  stomach — "  you  rave  !  Go  back  to  your  menus 
and  your  bouillis!  What  do  you  know  about  state  affairs? 
Why,  in  my  grandfather's  time,"  I  continued,  wrathfully,  "  if 
you  had  spoken  of  princes  of  the  blood  after  that  fashion,  you 
would  have  tasted  bread  and  water  for  six  months,  and  been 
lucky  had  you  got  off  unwhipped  !" 

He  quailed  before  me,  and,  forgetting  his  new  part  in  old 
habits,  muttered  an  apology.  He  had  not  meant  to  give  of- 
fence, he  said.  He  had  not  understood.  Nevertheless  I  was 
preparing  to  read  him  a  lesson  when,  to  my  astonishment, 
Buton  intervened. 

"  But,  monsieur,  that  is  thirty  years  back,"  he  said,  doggedly. 

"  What,  villain  !"  I  exclaimed,  almost  breathless  with  astonish- 
ment, "what  do  you  in  this  galere?" 

"  I  am  with  him,"  he  answered,  indicating  his  companion  by 
a  sullen  gesture. 

"  On  state  business  ?" 

"  Yes,  monsieur." 

"  Why,  mon  Dieu"  I  cried,  staring  at  them  between  amuse- 
ment and  incredulity,  "  if  this  is  true,  why  did  you  not  bring 
the  watch-dog  as  well  ?  And  Farmer  Jean's  ram  ?  And  the 
good-wife's  cat?  And  M.  Doury's  turnspit?  And — " 

M.  le  Cure  touched  my  arm.  "Perhaps  you  had  better  hear 
what  they  have  to  say,"  he  observed,  softly.  "  Afterwards,  M. 
le  Vicomte — " 


80  THE    KED    COCKADE 

I  nodded  sulkily.  "What  is  it,  then?"  I  said.  "  Ask  what 
you  want  to  ask." 

"The  Intendant  has  fled,"  Dotiry  answered,  recovering  some- 
thing of  his  lost  dignity,  "and  we  are  forming,  in  pursuance  of 
advice  received  from  Paris,  and  following  the  glorious  example 
of  that  city,  a  Committee  ;  a  Committee  to  administer  the  affairs 
of  the  district.  From  that  Committee  I,  monsieur,  with  my  good 
friend  here,  have  the  honor  to  be  a  deputation." 

"  With  him  ?"  I  said,  unable  to  control  myself  longer.  "But, 
in  Heaven's  name,  what  has  he  to  do  with  the  Committee  or 
the  affairs  of  the  district  ?" 

And  I  pointed  with  relentless  finger  to  Buton,  who  reddened 
under  his  tan,  and  moved  his  huge  feet  uneasily,  but  did  not 
speak. 

"  He  is  a  member  of  it,"  the  innkeeper  answered,  regarding 
his  colleague  with  a  side  glance  which  seemed  to  express  any- 
thing but  liking.  "This  Committee,  to  be  as  perfect  as  possi- 
ble, Monsieur  le  Vicomte  will  understand,  must  represent  all 
classes." 

"  Even  mine,  I  suppose,"  I  said,  with  a  sneer. 

"  It  is  on  that  business  we  have  come,"  he  answered,  awk- 
wardly. "To  ask,  in  a  word,  M.  le  Vicomte,  that  you  will 
allow  yourself  to  be  elected  a  member,  and  not  only  a  mem- 
ber—" 

"  What  elevation  !" 

"  But  President  of  the  Committee." 

After  all,  it  was  no  more  than  I  had  been  foreseeing  !  It 
had  come  suddenly,  but  in  the  main  it  was  only  that  in  sober 
fact  which  I  had  foreseen  in  a  dream.  Styled  the  mandate  of 
the  people,  it  had  sounded  well ;  by  the  mouth  of  Doury,  the 
innkeeper,  Buton  assessor,  it  jarred  every  nerve  in  me.  I  say 
it  should  not  have  surprised  me;  while  such  things  were  hap- 
pening in  the  world,  with  a  King  who  stood  by  and  saw  his 
fortress  taken,  and  his  servants  killed,  and  pardoned  the  rebels ; 
with  an  Intendant  of  Paris  slaughtered  in  his  own  streets;  with 
rumors  and  riots  in  every  province,  and  flying  princes,  and 
swinging  millers,  there  was  really  nothing  wonderful  in  the 
invitation.  And  now,  looking  back,  I  find  nothing  surprising 


'''WHAT    IS    IT,   THEM?1    I    SAID.       '  ASK    WHAT    YOU    WANT    TO    ASK' 


THE    DEPUTATION  83 

in  it.  I  have  lived  to  see  men  of  the  same  trade  as  Doury 
stand  by  the  throne  glittering  in  stars  and  orders,  and  a  smith 
born  in  the  forge  sit  down  to  dine  with  emperors.  But  that 
July  day,  on  the  terrace  at  Saux,  the  offer  seemed  of  all  farces 
the  wildest,  and  of  all  impertinences  the  most  absurd. 

"Thanks,  monsieur,"  I  said,  at  last,  when  I  had  sufficiently 
recovered  from  my  astonishment.  "  If  I  understand  you  right- 
ly, you  ask  me  to  sit  on  the  same  Committee  with  that  man?" 
And  I  pointed  grimly  to  Buton.  "  With  the  peasant  born  on 
my  land,  and  subject  yesterday  to  my  justice  ?  With  the  serf 
whom  my  fathers  freed  ?  With  the  workman  living  on  my 
wages  ?" 

Doury  glanced  at  his  colleague.  "  Well,  M.  le  Vicomte," 
he  said,  with  a  cough,  "  to  be  perfect,  you  understand,  a  Com- 
mittee must  represent  all." 

"  A  Committee !"  I  retorted,  unable  to  repress  my  scorn. 
"  It  is  a  new  thing  in  France.  And  what  is  the  perfect  Com- 
mittee to  do  ?" 

Doury,  on  a  sudden,  recovered  himself,  and  swelled  with  im- 
portance. "  The  Intendant  has  fled,"  he  said,  "  and  people  no 
longer  trust  the  magistrates.  There  are  rumors  of  brigands, 
too ;  and  corn  is  required.  With  all  this  the  Committee  must 
deal.  It  must  take  measures  to  keep  the  peace,  to  supply  the 
city,  to  satisfy  the  soldiers,  to  hold  meetings  and  consider  future 
steps.  Besides,  M.  le  Vicomte,"  he  continued,  puffing  all  his 
cheek,  "it  will  correspond  with  Paris;  it  will  administer  the 
law  ;  it  will — " 

"In  a  word,"  I  said,  quietly,  "it  will  govern,  the  King,  I 
suppose,  having  abdicated." 

Doury  shrank  bodily,  and  even  lost  some  of  his  color. 
"  God  forbid !"  he  said,  in  a  whining  tone.  "  It  will  do  all 
in  His  Majesty's  name." 

"  And  by  his  authority  ?'* 

The  innkeeper  stared  at  me,  startled  and  nonplussed,  and 
muttered  something  about  the  people. 

"  Ah  !"  I  said.  "  It  is  the  people  who  invite  me  to  govern, 
then,  is  it?  With  an  innkeeper  and  a  peasant?  And  other 
innkeepers  and  peasants,  I  suppose  ?  To  govern  !  To  usurp 


84  THE    RED    COCKADK 

Jlis  Majesty's  functions?  To  supersede  his  magistrates;  to 
bribe  his  forces?  In  a  word,  friend  Doury,"  I  continued,  suave- 
ly, "to  commit  treason?  Treason,  you  understand  .'" 

The  innkeeper  did;  and  lie  wiped  his  forehead  witli  a  shak- 
ing hand,  and  stood,  scared  and  speechless,  looking  at  me  pit- 
eously.  A  second  time  the  blacksmith  took  it  on  himself  to 
answer. 

"  Monseigneur,"  he  muttered,  drawing  his  great  black  hand 
across  his  beard. 

"  Buton,"  I  answered,  suavely,  "permit  me.  For  a  man  who 
aspires  to  govern  the  country,  you  are  too  respectful." 

"  You  have  omitted  one  thing  it  is  for  the  Committee  to 
do,"  the  smith  answered,  hoarsely,  looking,  like  a  timid  yet 
sullen  dog,  anywhere  but  in  my  face. 

"And  that  is?" 

"  To  protect  the  seigneurs." 

I  stared  at  him,  between  anger  and  surprise.  This  was  a 
new  light.  After  a  pause,  "From  whom?"  I  said,  curtlv. 

"Their  people,"  he  answered. 

"Their  Butons,"  I  said.  "I  see.  We  are  to  be  burned  in 
our  beds,  are  we  '" 

He  stood  sulkily  silent. 

"  Tliank  you,  Buton,"  I  said.  "  And  that  is  your  return  for 
a  winter's  corn.  Thanks  !  In  this  world  it  is  profitable  to  do 
good  !" 

The  man  reddened  through  his  tan,  and  on  a  sudden  looked 
at  me  for  the  first  time.  "You  know  that  you  lie,  M.  le  Yi- 
comte  !"  he  said. 

"  Lie,  sirrah  T  I  cried. 

••  Yi  ^,  monsieur,"  he  answered.  "You  know  that  I  would 
die  f.ir  the  seigneur,  as  much  as  if  the  iron  collar  were  n>iin.l 
my  neck.  That  before  fire  touched  the  house  of  Saiix  it  should 
burn  me.  That  I  am  my  lord's  man,  alive  and  dead.  But, 
mooaeigneur,"  and,  as  he  continued,  he  lowered  his  tone  to  one 
of  earnestness,  striking  in  a  man  so  mii^h.  "there  are  al>' 
and  there  must  be  an  end  of  them.  There  are  tyrants,  and  they 
must  go.  There  are  men  and  women  and  children  starving, 
and  there  must  be  an  end  of  that.  There  is  grinding  of  the 


THE    DEPUTATION  85 

faces  of  the  poor,  monseigneur —  not  here,  but  everywhere 
round  us — and  there  must  be  an  end  of  that.  And  the  poor 
pay  taxes  and  the  rich  go  free  ;  the  poor  make  the  roads,  and 
the  rich  use  them  ;  the  poor  have  no  salt,  while  the  King  eats 
gold.  To  all  these  things  there  is  now  to  be  an  end — quietly, 
if  the  seigneurs  will — but  an  end.  An  end,  monseigneur,  though 
we  burn  chateaux,"  he  added,  grimly. 


CHAPTER   VI 
A    MEETING    IN    THE    ROAD 

THE  unlooked-for  eloquence  which  rang  in  the  blacksmith's 
words,  and  the  assurance  of  his  tone,  no  less  than  this  startling 
disclosure  of  thoughts  with  which  I  had  never  dreamed  of  cred- 
iting him  or  any  peasant,  took  me  so  aback  for  a  moment  that 
I  stood  silent.  Doury  seized  the  occasion,  and  struck  in  : 

"  You  see  now,  M.  le  Vicomte,"  he  said,  complacently,  "  the 
necessity  for  such  a  Committee.  The  King's  peace  must  be 
maintained." 

"  I  see,"  I  answered,  harshly,  "  that  there  are  violent  men 
abroad,  who  were  better  in  the  stocks.  Committee?  Let  the 
King's  officers  keep  the  King's  peace !  The  proper  machin- 
ery—" 

"  It  is  shattered  !" 

The  words  were  Doury's.  The  next  moment  he  quailed  at  his 
presumption.  "  Then  let  it  be  repaired  !"  I  thundered.  "Afon 
Dieuf  that  a  set  of  tavern  cooks  and  base-born  rascals  should  go 
about  the  country  prating  of  it,  and  prating  to  me !  Go,  I  will 
have  nothing  to  do  with  you  or  your  Committee.  Go,  I  say  '." 

"  Nevertheless — a  little  patience,  M.  le  Vicomte,"  he  persist- 
ed, chagrin  on  his  pale  face — "  nevertheless,  if  any  of  the  no- 
bility would  give  us  countenance,  you  most  of  all — " 

"  There  would  then  be  some  one  to  hang  instead  of  Doury  !" 
I  answered,  bluntly.  "Some  one  behind  whom  he  could  shield 
himself,  and  lesser  villains  hide.  But  I  will  not  be  the  stalking- 
horse." 

••  And  yet,  in  other  provinces,''  he  answered,  desperately,  his 
disappointment  more  and  more  pronounced,  "  M.  de  Liancourt 
and  M.  dc  Rochefoucauld  have  not  disdained  to — " 


A    MEETING    IN    THE    ROAD  87 

"  Nevertheless,  I  disdain  !"  I  retorted.  "  And  more,  I  tell 
you,  and  I  bid  you  remember  it,  you  will  have  to  answer  for 
the  work  you  are  doing.  I  have  told  you  it  is  treason.  It  is 
treason  ;  I  will  have  neither  act  not  part  in  it.  Now  go." 

"  There  will  be  burning,"  the  smith  muttered. 

"  Begone  !"  I  said,  sternly.     "  If  you  do  not — " 

"  Before  the  morn  is  old  the  sky  will  be  red,"  he  answered. 
"  On  your  head,  seigneur,  be  it !" 

I  aimed  a  blow  at  him  with  my  cane,  but  he  avoided  it  with 
a  kind  of  dignity  and  stalked  away,  Doury  following  him  with 
a  pale,  hang-dog  face,  and  his  finery  sitting  very  ill  upon  him. 
I  stood  and  watched  them  go,  and  then  I  turned  to  the  cure  to 
hear  what  he  had  to  say. 

But  I  found  him  gone,  also.  He,  too,  had  slipped  away ; 
through  the  house,  to  intercept  them  at  the  gates,  perhaps,  and 
dissuade  them.  I  waited  for  him,  querulously  tapping  the  walk 
with  my  stick,  and  watching  the  corner  of  the  house.  Pres- 
ently he  came  round  it,  holding  his  hat  an  inch  or  two  above 
his  head,  his  lean,  tall  figure  almost  shadowless,  for  it  was  noon. 
I  noticed  that  his  lips  moved  as  he  came  towards  me  ;  but  when 
I  spoke  he  looked  up  cheerfully. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  in  answer  to  my  question,  "  I  went  through, 
the  house  and  stopped  them." 

"  It  would  be  useless,"  I  said.  "  Men  so  mad  as  to  think 
that  they  could  replace  His  Majesty's  government  with  a  Com- 
mittee of  smiths  and  pastry-cooks — " 

"  I  have  joined  it,"  he  answered,  smiling  faintly. 

"  The  Committee  ?"  I  ejaculated,  breathless  with  surprise. 

"  Even  so." 

"  Impossible  !" 

"  Why  ?"  he  said,  quietly.  "  Have  I  not  always  predicted 
this  day?  Is  not  this  what  Rousseau,  with  his  Social  Con- 
tract, and  Beaumarchais,  with  his  Figaro,  and  every  philosopher 
who  ever  repeated  the  one,  and  every  fine  lady  who  ever  ap- 
plauded the  other,  have  been  teaching?  Well,  it  has  come,  and 
I  have  advised  you,  M.  le  Vicomte,  to  stand  by  your  order. 
But  I,  a  poor  man,  I  stand  by  mine.  And  for  the  Committee  of 
what  seems  to  you,  my  friend,  impossible  people,  is  not  any 


88  THE  RED  COCKADE 

kind  of  government " — this  more  warmly,  and  as  if  he  were 
arguing  with  himself — "  better  than  none?  Understand,  m»n- 
sieur,  the  old  machinery  lias  broken  down.  The  Intendant  ha< 
fled.  The  people  defy  the  magistrates.  The  soldiers  side  with 
the  people.  The  huissiers  and  tax-collectors  are — the  good  God 
knows  where  !" 

"Then,"  I  said,  indignantly,  "  it  is  time  for  the  gentry  to — 

"  Take  the  lead  and  govern  ?"  he  rejoined.  "  By  whom  ?  A 
handful  of  servants  and  game-keepers?  Against  the  people? 
against  such  a  mob  as  you  saw  in  the  square  at  Cahors  ?  Im- 
possible, monsieur." 

"  But  the  world  seems  to  be  turning  upside  down,"  I  said, 
helplessly. 

"  The  greater  need  of  a  strong,  unchanging  holdfast — not  of 
the  world,"  he  answered,  reverently,  and  he  lifted  his  hat  a  mo- 
ment from  his  head  and  stood  in  thought.  Then  he  continued  : 
"  However,  the  matter  is  this:  I  hear  from  Doury  that  the  gen- 
try are  gathering  at  Cahors,  with  the  view  of  combining,  as  you 
,rest,  and  checking  the  people.  Now  it  must  be  useless, 
and  it  may  be  worse.  It  may  lead  to  the  very  excesses  they 
would  prevent." 

"  In  Cahors  ?" 

"  No,  in  the  country.  Buton,  be  sure,  did  not  speak  without 
warrant.  He  is  a  good  man,  but  he  knows  some  who  are  not,  and 
there  are  lonely  chateaux  in  Quercy,  and  dainty  women  who  have 
never  known  the  touch  of  a  rough  hand,  and — and  children." 

"  But,"  I  cried,  aghast,  "  do  you  fear  a  Jacquerie  ?" 

"God  knows,"  he  answered,  solemnly.  "The  fathers  have 
eaten  sour  grapes,  and  the  children's  teeth  are  set  on  edge. 
How  many  years  have  men  spent  at  Versailles  the  peasant's 
blood,  life,  bone,  flesh  !  To  pay  back  at  last,  it  may  be,  of  their 
own  !  But  God  forbid,  monsieur,  God  forbid  !  Yet,  if  ever,  it 
comes  now." 

When  he  was  gone  I  could  not  rest.  His  words  had  raised 
a  fever  in  me — what  might  not  be  afoot?  what  might  not  l>e 
going  on  while  I  lay  idle  —  and  presently,  to  quen<  !i  my 
thirst  for  news,  I  mounted  and  rode  out  on  the  way  to  Cahors. 


A    MEETING    IN    THE    ROAD  89 

The  day  was  hot,  and  the  time  for  riding  ill  chosen ;  but  the 
exercise  did  me  good.  I  began  to  recover  from  the  giddiness 
of  thought  into  which  the  cure's  fears,  coming  on  the  top  of 
Buton's  warning,  had  thrown  me.  For  a  while  I  had  seen  things 
with  their  eyes ;  I  had  allowed  myself  to  be  carried  away  by 
their  imaginations ;  and  the  prospect  of  a  France  ruled  by  a  set 
of  farriers  and  postilions  had  not  seemed  so  bizarre  as  it  began 
to  look,  now  that  1  had  time,  mounting  the  long  hill  which  lies 
one  league  from  Saux  and  two  from  Cahors,  to  consider  it  calm- 
ly. For  a  moment  the  wild  idea  of  a  whole  gentry  fleeing  like 
hares  before  their  peasantry  had  not  seemed  so  very  wild. 

Now,  on  reflection,  beginning  to  see  things  in  their  normal 
sizes,  I  called  myself  a  simpleton.  A  Jacquerie  ?  Three  cen- 
turies and  more  had  passed  since  France  had  known  the  thing 
in  the  Dark  Ages.  Could  any,  save  a  child  alone  in  the  night, 
or  a  romantic  maiden  solitary  in  her  rock  castle,  dream  of  its 
recurrence  ?  True,  as  I  skirted  St.  Alais,  which  lies  a  little 
aside  from  the  road  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  I  saw  at  the  village 
turning  a  sullen  group  of  faces  that  should  have  been  bent  over 
the  hoe  ;  a  group  gloomy,  discontented,  waiting — waiting,  with 
shock  heads  and  eyes  glittering  under  low  brows,  for  God 
knows  what.  But  I  had  seen  such  a  gathering  before  ;  in  bad 
times,  when  seed  was  lacking,  or  when  despair,  or  some  ex- 
cessive outrage  on  the  part  of  tliefermier,  had  driven  the  peas- 
ants to  fold  their  hands  and  quit  the  fields.  And  always  it  had 
ended  in  nothing,  or  a  hanging  at  most.  Why  should  I  suppose 
that  anything  would  come  of  it  now,  or  that  a  spark  in  Paris 
must  kindle  a  fire  here  ? 

In  fact,  I  as  good  as  made  up  my  mind,  and  laughed  at  my 
simplicity.  The  cure  had  let  his  predictions  run  away  with 
him,  and  Buton's  ignorance  and  credulity  had  done  the  rest. 
What,  I  now  saw,  could  be  more  absurd  than  to  suppose  that 
France,  the  first,  the  most  stable,  the  most  highly  civilized  of 
states,  wherein  for  two  centuries  none  had  resisted  the  royal 
power  and  stood,  could  become  in  a  moment  the  theatre  of  bar- 
barous excesses  ?  What  more  absurd  than  to  conceive  it  turned 
into  the  Petit  Trianon  of  a  gang  of  roturiers  and  canaille  ? 

At  this  point  in  my  thoughts  I  broke  off,  for  as  I  reached  it 


90  THE    RED    COCKADE 

a  coach  came  slowly  over  the  ridge  before  me  and  began  to  de- 
scend the  road.  For  a  space  it  hung  clear-cut  against  the  sky, 
the  burly  figure  of  the  coachman  and  the  heads  of  the  two 
lackeys  who  swung  behind  it  visible  above  the  hood.  Then  it 
began  to  drop  down  cautiously  towards  me.  The  men  behind 
sprang  down  and  locked  the  wheels,  and  the  lumbering  vehicle 
slid  and  groaned  downward,  the  wheelers  pressing  back,  the 
leading  horses  tossing  their  heads  impatiently.  The  road  there 
descends  not  in  lacets,  but  straight,  for  nearly  half  a  mile  be- 
tween poplars;  and  on  the  summer  air  the  screaming  of  the 
wheels  and  the  jingling  of  the  harness  came  distinctly  to  the  ear. 

Presently  I  made  out  that  the  coach  was  Madame  St.  Alais's, 
and  I  felt  inclined  to  turn  and  avoid  it.  But  the  next  moment 
pride  came  to  my  aid,  and  I  shook  my  reins  and  went  on  to 
meet  it. 

I  had  scarcely  seen  a  person  except  Father  Benoit  since  the 
affair  at  Cahors,  and  my  cheek  flamed  at  the  thought  of  the 
rencontre  before  me.  For  the  same  reason  the  coach  seemed 
to  come  on  very  slowly  ;  but  at  last  I  came  abreast  of  it,  passed 
the  straining  horses,  and  looked  into  the  carriage,  with  my  hat 
in  my  hand,  fearing  that  I  might  see  madamc,  hoping  I  might 
see  Louis,  ready  with  a  formal  salute  at  least.  Politeness  re- 
quired no  less. 

But  sitting  in  the  place  of  honor,  instead  o/  M.  le  Marquis 
or  his  mother  or  M.  le  Comte,  was  one  little  figure  throned  in 
the  middle  of  the  seat;  a  little  figure  with  a  pale,  inquiring 
face  that  blushed  scarlet  at  sight  of  me,  and  eyes  that  opened 
wide  with  fright,  and  lips  that  trembled  piteously.  It  was 
mademoiselle  ! 

Had  I  known  a  moment  earlier  that  she  was  in  the  carriage 
and  alone,  I  should  have  passed  by  in  silence,  as  was  doubtless 
inv  duty  after  what  had  happened.  I  was  the  last  person  who 
should  have  intruded  on  her.  But  the  men,  grinning,  I  dare 
say,  at  the  encounter — for  probahly  madame's  treatment  of  me 
w«s  the  talk  of  the  house — had  drawn  nj>,  and  I  had  reined  up 
instinctively;  so  that  before  1  <|iiitc  understood  that  she  was 
alone,  save  for  two  maids  who  sat  with  tlieir  hacks  to  the  horses, 
we  were  gazing  at  one  another — like  two  fools! 


A    MEETING    IN    THE    ROAD  91 

"  Mademoiselle  !"  I  said. 

"  Monsieur  !"  she  answered,  mechanically. 

Now  when  I  had  said  that  I  had  said  all  that  I  had  a  right 
to  say.  I  should  have  saluted  and  gone  on  with  that.  But 
something  impelled  me  to  add,  "  Mademoiselle  is  going — to  St. 
Alais  ?" 

Her  lips  moved,  but  I  heard  no  sound.  She  stared  at  me 
like  one  under  a  spell.  The  elder  of  her  women,  however,  an- 
swered for  her,  and  said,  briskly  : 

"  Ah,  oui,  monsieur." 

"  And  madame  de  St.  Alais  ?" 

"  Madame  remains  at  Cahors,"  the  woman  answered,  in  the 
same  tone,  "  with  M.  le  Marquis,  who  has  business." 

Then,  at  any  rate,  I  should  have  gone  on  ;  but  the  girl  sat 
looking  at  me,  silent  and  blushing ;  and  something  in  the  pict- 
ure, something  in  the  thought  of  her  arriving  alone  and  unpro- 
tected at  St.  Alais,  taken  with  a  memory  of  the  lowering  faces 
I  had  seen  in  the  village,  impelled  me  to  stand  and  linger,  and 
finally  to  blurt  out  what  I  had  in  my  mind. 

"  Mademoiselle,"  I  said,  impulsively,  ignoring  her  attendants, 
"  if  you  will  take  my  advice — you  will  not  go  on." 

One  of  the  women  muttered  "  Ma  foi !"  under  her  breath. 
The  other  said  "  Indeed  ?"  and  tossed  her  head  impertinently. 
But  mademoiselle  found  her  voice. 

"  Why,  monsieur  ?"  she  said,  clearly  and  sweetly,  her  eyes 
wide  with  a  surprise  that  for  the  moment  overcame  her  shyness. 

"Because,"  I  answered,  diffidently — I  repented  already  that 
I  had  spoken  — "  the  state  of  the  country  is  such  —  I  mean 
that  Madame  la  Marquise  scarcely  understands  perhaps  that — 
that—" 

"  What,  monsieur?"  mademoiselle  asked,  primly. 

"  That  at  St.  Alais,"  I  stammered,  "  there  is  a  good  deal  of 
discontent,  mademoiselle,  and — " 

"  At  St.  Alais  ?"  she  said. 

"  In  the  neighborhood,  I  should  have  said,"  I  answered,  awk- 
wardly. "  And — and  in  fine,"  I  continued,  very  much  embar- 
rassed, "  it  would  be  better,  in  my  poor  opinion,  for  mademoiselle 
to  turn  and — " 


92  THE    RED    COCKADE 

"Accompany  monsieur,  perhaps  ?"  one  of  the  women  said; 
and  she  giggled  insolently. 

Mademoiselle  St.  Alais  flashed  a  look  at  the  offender  that 
made  me  wink.  Then,  with  her  cheeks  burning,  she  said : 

"  Drive  on  !" 

I  was  foolish  and  would  not  let  ill  alone.  "  But,  mademoiselle," 
I  said,  "a  thousand  pardons,  but — " 

"  Drive  on  !"  she  repeated  ;  this  time  in  a  tone  which,  though 
it  was  still  sweet  and  clear,  was  not  to  be  gainsaid.  The  maid 
who  had  not  offended — the  other  looked  no  little  scared — re- 
peated the  order,  the  coach  began  to  move,  and  in  a  moment  I 
was  left  in  the  road,  sitting  on  my  horse  with  my  hat  in  my 
hand,  and  looking  foolishly  at  nothing. 

The  straight  road  running  down  between  lines  of  poplars, 
the  descending  coach,  lurching  and  jolting  as  it  went,  the  faces 
of  the  grinning  lackeys  as  they  looked  back  at  me  through  the 
dust — I  well  remember  them  all.  They  form  a  picture  strange- 
ly vivid  and  distinct  in  that  gallery  where  so  many  more  im- 
portant have  faded  into  nothingness.  I  was  hot,  angry,  vexed 
with  myself  j  conscious  that  I  had  trespassed  beyond  the  be- 
coming, and  that  I  more  than  deserved  the  repulse  I  had  suf- 
fered. But  through  all  ran  a  thread  of  a  new  feeling — a  quite 
new  feeling.  Mademoiselle's  face  moved  before  my  eyes — 
showing  through  the  dust;  her  eyes  full  of  daintv  surprise,  or 
disdain  as  delicate,  accompanied  me  as  I  rode.  I  thought  of 
her,  not  of  Buton  or  Doury,  the  Committee  or  the  cure,  the  heat 
or  the  dull  road.  I  ceased  to  speculate  except  on  the  chances 
of  a  peasant  rising.  That,  that  alone,  assumed  a  new  and  more 
formidable  aspect,  and  became  in  a  moment  imminent  and 
probable.  The  sight  of  mademoiselle's  childish  face  had  given 
a  reality  to  Buton's  warnings  which  all  the  cure's  hints  had 
failed  to  impart  to  them. 

So  much  did  the  thought  now  harass  me  that  to  escape  it  I 
shook  up  my  horse  and  cantered  on,  Gil  and  Andr6  followiiiLT, 
and  wondering,  doubtless,  why  I  did  not  turn.  Hut,  wholly 
taken  uj>  with  the  horrid  visions  which  the  blacksmith's  words 
had  called  up,  I  took  no  heed  of  time  until  I  awoke  to  find  my- 
self more  than  half-way  on  the  road  to  Cahors,  which  lies  three 


MADEMOISELLE,'   I    SAID1' 


A    MEETING    IN    THE    ROAD  95 

leagues  and  a  mile  from  Saux.  Then  I  drew  rein  and  stood  in 
the  road,  in  a  fit  of  excitement  and  indecision.  Within  the  half- 
hour  I  might  be  at  Madame  St.  Alais's  door  in  Cahors,  and 
whatever  happened  then  I  should  have  no  need  to  reproach 
myself.  Or  in  a  little  more  I  might  be  at  home,  inglorionsly 
safe. 

Which  was  it  to  be  ?  The  moment,  though  I  did  not  know  it, 
was  fateful.  On  the  one  hand,  mademoiselle's  face,  her  beauty, 
her  innocence,  her  helplessness,  pleaded  with  me  strongly,  and 
dragged  me  on — to  give  the  warning.  On  the  other,  my  pride 
urged  me  to  return,  and  avoid  such  a  reception  as  I  had  every 
reason  to  expect. 

In  the  end  I  went  on.  In  less  than  half  an  hour  I  had  crossed 
the  Valandre  bridge. 

Yet  it  must  not  be  supposed  that  I  decided  without  doubt,  or 
went  forward  without  misgiving.  The  taunts  and  sneers  to 
which  madame  had  treated  me  were  too  recent  for  that,  and  a 
dozen  times  pride  and  resentment  almost  checked  my  steps,  and 
I  turned  and  went  towards  home  again.  On  each  occasion,  how- 
ever, the  ugly  faces  and  brutish  eyes  I  had  seen  in  the  village 
rose  before  me-,  I  remembered  the  hatred  in  which  Gargouf,  the 
St.  Alais  steward,  was  held  ;  I  pictured  the  horrors  that  might  be 
enacted  before  help  could  come  from  Cahors-,  and  I  went  on. 

Yet  with  a  mind  made  up  to  ridicule,  which  even  the  crowded 
streets,  when  I  reached  them,  failed  to  relieve,  though  they  wore 
an  unmistakable  air  of  excitement.  Groups  of  people,  busily 
conversing,  were  everywhere  to  be  seen,  and  in  two  or  three 
places  men  were  standing  on  stools — in  a  fashion  then  new  to 
me — haranguing  knots  of  idlers.  Some  of  the  shops  were  shut; 
there  were  guards  before  others,  and  before  the  bakehouses.  I 
remarked  a  great  number  of  journals  and  pamphlets  in  men's 
hands,  and  that  where  these  were  the  talk  rose  loudest.  In  some 
places,  too,  my  appearance  seemed  to  create  excitement,  but  this 
was  of  a  doubtful  character — a  few  greeting  me  respectfully,  while 
more  stared  at  me  in  silence.  Several  asked  me  as  I  passed  if 
I  brought  news,  and  seemed  disappointed  when  I  said  I  did  not ; 
and  at  two  points  a  handful  of  people  hooted  me. 

This  angered  me  a  little,  but  I  forgot  it  in  a  thing  still  more 


96  TMK     KEU    C'OC'KADK 

surprising.  Presently,  as  I  rode,  I  heard  my  name  called,  and, 
turning,  found  M.  de  Gontaut  hurrying  after  mo  as  fast  as  liis 
dignity  and  lameness  would  permit.  He  leaned,  as  usual,  on 
the  arm  of  a  servant,  his  other  hand  holding  a  cane  ami  snuff- 
box;  and  two  stout  fellows  followed  him.  I  had  no  reason  to 
suppose  that  he  would  appreciate  the  service  I  had  done  him 
more  highly,  or  acknowledge  it  more  gratefully,  than  on  the  day 
of  the  riot,  and  my  surprise  was  great  when  he  came  up,  his  face 
all  smiles. 

••  Nothing  for  months  has  given  me  so  mucli  pleasure  as 
this,"  he  said,  saluting  me  with  overwhelming  cordiality.  "  By 
my  faith,  M.  le  Vicomte,  you  have  outdone  us  all!  You  will 
have  such  a  reception  yonder !  and  you  have  brought  two  good 
knaves,  I  see.  It  is  not  fair,"  lie  continued,  nodding  his  head 
with  senile  jocularity.  "  I  declare  it  is  not  fair.  But  you  know 
the  text?  'There  is  more  joy  in  heaven  over  one  sinner  that 
repenteth  than — '  Ha  !  ha !  Well,  we  must  not  be  jealous. 
You  have  taught  them  a  lesson,  and  now  we  are  united." 

"But,  M.  le  Baron,"  I  said,  in  amazement,  as,  obeying  his 
gesture,  I  moved  on,  while  he  limped  jauntily  beside  me,  "I  do 
not  understand  you  in  the  least?" 

"  You  don't  ?" 

"  No !"  I  said. 

••  Ah  !  you  did  not  think  that  we  should  hear  it  so  soon,"  lie 
replied,  shaking  his  head  sagely.  "Oh,  I  can  tell  yon  we  are 
well  provided.  The  campaign  has  begun,  and  the  information 
department  has  not  been  neglected.  Little  escapes  us,  ami  we 
shall  soon  set  these  rogues  right.  But,  for  the  fact,  that  damned 
rascal  Doury  let  it  out.  I  hear  you  told  them  some  tine  home 
truths.  A  Committee,  the  insolents !  And  in  our  teeth  !  But 
you  gave  them  a  sharp  set-k'U'k,  1  hear,  M.  le  Yieomte.  If  you 
had  joined  it,  now — " 

II'  stopped  abruptly.  A  man  crossing  the  street  had  slightly 
jostled  him.  The  old  noble  lost  his  temper,  and  on  the  instant 
raised  his  stick  with  a  passionate  oath,  and  the  man  cowered 
away,  l>eg<rjn,r  his  pardon.  Hut  M.  de  Gontaut  was  not  to  l>e 
appea 

!"  he   eried  after  him,  in  a  voice  trembling  with 


A    MEETING    IN    THE    ROAD  97 

rage,  "  you  would  throw  me  down  again,  would  you  ?  We  will 
put  you  in  your  place  by-and-by.  We  will — why,  Dieuf  when 
I  was  young — " 

"  But,  M.  le  Baron,"  I  said,  to  divert  his  attention,  for  two  or 
three  bystanders  were  casting  ugly  looks  at  us,  and  I  saw  that  it 
needed  little  to  bring  about  a  fracas,  "are  you  quite  sure  that 
we  shall  be  able  to  keep  them  in  check  ?" 

The  old  noble  still  trembled,  but  he  drew  himself  up  with  a 
gesture  of  pathetic  gallantry. 

"  You  shall  see  !"  he  cried.  "  When  it  comes  to  hard  knocks, 
you  shall  see,  monsieur.  But  here  we  are  ;  and  there  is  Ma- 
dame St.  Alais  on  the  balcony,  with  some  of  her  body-guard." 
He  paused  to  kiss  his  hand,  with  the  air  of  a  Polignac.  "  Up 
there,  M.  le  Vicomte,  you  will  see  what  you  will  see,"  he  con- 
tinued. "And  I — I  shall  be  in  luck,  too;  for  I  have  brought 
you." 

It  seemed  to  me  more  like  a  dream  than  a  reality.  A  fort- 
night before  I  had  been  spurned  from  this  house  with  insults ; 
I  had  been  bidden  never  to  enter  it  again.  Now,  on  the  balco- 
nies, from  which  pretty  faces  and  powdered  heads  looked  down, 
handkerchiefs  fluttered  to  greet  me.  On  the  stairs,  which, 
crowded  with  servants  and  lackeys,  shook  under  the  constant 
stream  of  comers  and  goers,  I  was  received  with  a. hum  of  ap- 
plause. In  every  corner  snuffboxes  were  being  tapped  and 
canes  handled  ;  the  flashing  of  roguish  eyes  behind  fans  vied 
with  the  glitter  of  mirrors.  And  through  all  a  lane  was  made 
for  me.  At  the  door  Louis  met  me.  A  little  farther  on  madame 
came  half- way xacross  the  room  to  me.  It  was  a  triumph — a  tri- 
umph which  1  found  inexplicable,  unintelligible,  until  I  learned 
that  the  rebuff  which  I  had  administered  to  the  deputation  had 
been  exaggerated  a  dozen  times,  nay,  a  hundred  times,  until  it 
met  oven  the  wishes  of  the  most  violent ;  while  the  sober  and 
thoughtful  were  too  glad  to  hail  in  my  adhesion  the  proof  of 
that  reaction  which  the  royalist  party,  from  the  first  day  of  the 
troubles,  never  ceased  to  expect. 

No  wonder  that,  taken  by  surprise  and  intoxicated  with  in- 
cense, I  let  myself  go.  To  have  declared,  in  that  company,  and 
with  madame's  gracious  words  in  my  ears,  that  I  had  not  come  to 


98  THK    RED    COCKADK 

join  them,  that  I  had  come  on  a  different  errand  altogether ;  that 
though  I  had  repelled  the  deputation  I  had  no  intention  of  act- 
ing against  it,  would  have  required  a  courage  and  a  hardnes-  I 
could  not  boast;  while  the  circumstances  of  the  deputation, 
Doury's  presumption  and  Buton's  hints,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
violence  of  the  Parisian  mob,  had  not  failed  to  impress  me  unfa- 
vorably. With  a  thousand  others  who  had  prepared  themselves 
to  welcome  reform,  I  recoiled  when  I  saw  the  lengths  to  which 
it  was  tending;  and,  though  nothing  had  been  further  from  my 
mind  when  I  entered  Cahors  than  to  join  myself  to  the  St.  Alais 
faction,  I  found  it  impossible  to  reject  their  apologies  on  the 
spot,  or  explain  on  the  instant  the  real  purpose  with  which  I 
had  come  to  them. 

I  was,  in  fact,  the  sport  of  circumstances ;  weak,  it  will  be 
said,  in  the  wrong  place,  and  stubborn  in  the  wrong;  betraying 
a  boy's  petulance  at  one  time,  and  a  boy's  fickleness  at  another; 
and  now  a  tool  and  now  a  churl.  Perhaps  truly.  But  it  was  a 
time  of  trial;  nor  was  I  the  only  man  or  the  oldest  man  who 
in  those  days  changed  his  opinions,  and  again  within  the  week 
went  back,  or  who  found  it  hard  to  find  a  cockade,  white,  Mark, 
red,  or  tricolor,  to  his  taste. 

Besides,  flattery  is  sweet,  and  I  was  young;  moreover,  1  had 
mademoiselle  in  my  head,  and  nothing  could  exceed  madam<  \ 
graciousness.  I  think  she  valued  me  the  more  for  my  late  revolt, 
and  prided  herself  on  my  reduction  in  proportion  as  I  had  shown 
myself  able  to  resist. 

44  Few  words  are  better,  M.  le  Vicomte,"  she  said,  with  a  dig- 
nitv  which  honored  me  equally  with  herself.  "  Many  things 
have  happened  since  I  saw  yon.  We  arc  neither  of  us  quite  of 
the  same  opinion.  Forgive  me.  A  woman's  word  and  a  man's 
sword  do  no  dishonor." 

I  bowed,  blushing  with  pleasure.  After  a  fortnight  spent  in 
solitude  these  moving  groups,  bowing,  smiling,  talking  in  low. 
earnest  tones  of  the  one  purpose,  the  one  aim,  had  immense  in- 
fluence with  me.  I  felt  the  contagion.  1  let  madame  take  me 
into  her  confidence. 

"  The  King" — it  was  always  the  King  with  her — "  in  a  week 
or  two  the  King  will  assert  himself.  \-  \<  t  his  ear  has  been 


-. 

JHBHH^B^HIHHiSB 
''HK  PAUSED  TO  KISS  HIS  HAND" 


A    MEETING    IN    THE    ROAD  101 

abused.  It  will  pass  ;  in  the  meantime  we  must  take  our  proper 
places.  We  must  arm  our  servants  and  keepers,  repress  disor- 
der, and  resist  encroachment." 

"  And  the  Committee,  madame  !" 

She  tapped  me,  smiling,  with  the  ends  of  her  dainty  fingers. 

"  We  will  treat  it  as  you  treated  it,"  she  said. 

"You  think  that  you  will  be  strong  enough?" 

"  We,"  she  answered. 

"  We?"  I  said,  correcting  myself,  with  a  blush. 

"  Why  not?  How  can  it  be  otherwise  ?"  she  replied,  looking 
proudly  round  her.  "  Can  you  look  round  and  doubt  it,  M.  le 
Vicomte  ?" 

"  But  France  ?"  I  said. 

"  We  are  France,"  she  retorted,  with  a  superb  gesture. 

And  certainly  the  splendid  crowd  that  filled  her  rooms  was 
almost  warrant  for  the  words ;  a  crowd  of  stately  men  and  fair 
women  such  as  I  have  seen  only  once  or  twice  since  those  days. 
Under  the  surface  there  may  have  been  pettiness  and  senility ; 
the  exhaustion  of  vice ;  jealousy  and  lukewarmness  and  dissen- 
sion ;  but  the  powder  and  patches,  the  silks  and  velvets  of  the 
old  regime,  gave  to  all  a  semblance  of  strength,  and  at  least  the 
appearance  of  dignity.  If  few  were  soldiers,  all  wore  swords 
and  could  use  them.  The  fact  that  the  small  sword,  so  power- 
ful a  weapon  in  the  duel,  is  useless  against  a  crowd  armed  with 
stones  and  clubs  had  not  yet  been  made  clear.  Nothing  seemed 
more  easy  than  for  two  or  three  hundred  swordsmen  to  rule  a 
province. 

At  any  rate,  I  found  nothing  but  what  was  feasible  in  the  no- 
tion ;  and  with  little  real  reluctance,  if  no  great  enthusiasm,  I 
pinned  on  the  white  cockade.  Putting  all  thoughts  of  present 
reform  from  my  mind,  I  agreed  that  order — order  was  the  one 
pressing  need  of  the  country. 

On  that  all  were  agreed,  and  all  were  hopeful.  I  heard  no 
misgivings,  but  a  good  deal  of  vaporing,  in  which  poor  M.  le 
Gontaut,  with  the  palsy  almost  upon  him,  had  his  part.  No 
one  dropped  a  hint  of  danger  in  the  country,  or  of  a  revolt  of 
the  peasants.  Even  to  me,  as  I  stood  in  the  brilliant  crowd,  the 
danger  grew  to  seem  so  remote  and  unreal  that  delicacy  as  well 


102  THE    RED    COCKADE 

as  the  fear  of  ridicule  kept  me  silent.  I  could  not  speak  of 
mademoiselle  without  awkwardness,  and  so  the  warning  wlii<-h 
I  had  come  to  give  died  on  my  lips.  I  saw  that  I  should  be 
laughed  at;  I  fancied  myself  deceived,  and  I  was  silent. 

It  was  only  when,  after  promising  to  return  next  day,  I  stood 
at  the  door  prepared  to  leave,  and  found  myself  alone  with  Louis, 
that  I  let  a  word  fall.  Then  I  asked  him,  with  a  little  hesita- 
tion, if  he  thought  that  his  sister  was  quite  safe  at  St.  Alais. 

••  Why  not?"  he  said,  easily,  with  his  hand  on  my  shoulder. 

"The  trouble  is  not  in  the  town  only,"  I  hinted.  "  Nor  per- 
haps the  worst  of  the  trouble." 

II'-  shrugged  his  shoulders,  smiling.  "You  think  too  much 
of  it,  mon  cker"  he  answered.  "  Believe  me,  now  that  we  are 
at  one  the  trouble  is  over." 

And  that  was  the  evening  of  the  4th  of  August,  the  day  on 
which  the  Assembly  in  Paris  renounced  at  a  single  sitting  all 
immunities,  exemptions,  and  privileges,  all  feudal  dues,  and 
fines,  and  rights,  all  tolls,  all  tithes,  the  salt  tax,  the  game  laws, 
capitaineries !  At  one  sitting,  on  that  evening ;  and  Louis 
thought  that  the  trouble  was  over ! 


CHAPTER  VII 
THE    ALARM 

AT  that  time  a  brazier  in  the  market-place  and  three  or  four 
lanterns  at  street  crossings  made  up  the  most  of  the  piiblic 
lighting.  When  I  paused,  therefore,  to  breathe  my  horse  on  the 
brow  of  the  slope  beyond  the  Valandre  bridge,  and  looked  back 
on  Cahors,  I  saw  only  darkness,  broken  here  and  there  by  a  blur 
of  yellow  light,  that  still,  by  throwing  up  a  fragment  of  wall  or 
eaves,  told  in  a  mysterious  way  of  the  sleeping  city. 

The  river,  a  faint,  shimmering  line,  conjectured  rather  than 
seen,  wound  round  all.  Above,  clouds  were  flying  across  the 
sky,  and  a  wind,  cold  for  the  time  of  year,  cold,  at  least,  after, 
the  heat  of  the  day — chilled  the  blood,  and  slowly  filled  the 
mind  with  the  solemnity  of  night. 

As  I  stood  listening  to  the  breathing  of  the  horses,  the  ex- 
citement in  which  I  had  passed  the  last  few  hours  died  away, 
and  left  me  wondering — wondering,  and  a  little  regretful.  The 
exaltation  gone,  I  found  the  scene  I  had  just  left  flavorless  ; 
I  even  presently  began  to  find  it  worse.  Some  false  note  in 
the  cynical,  boastful  voices  and  the  selfish,  the  utterly  selfish, 
plans  to  which  I  had  been  listening  for  hours,  made  itself 
heard  in  the  stillness.  Madame's  "We  are  France,"  which  had 
sounded  well  enough  amid  the  lights  and  glitter  of  the  salon, 
among  laces  and  fripons  and  rose-pink  coats,  seemed  folly  in 
the  face  of  the  infinite  night,  behind  which  lay  twenty-five  mill- 
ions of  Frenchman. 

However,  what  I  had  done,  I  had  done.  I  had  the  white  cock- 
ade on  my  breast ;  I  was  pledged  to  order — and  to  my  order. 
And  it  might  be  the  better  course.  But,  with  reflection,  enthu- 
siasm faded  ;  and,  by  some  strange  process,  as  it  faded,  and  the 


104  THE    RED    COCKADE 

scene  in  which  I  had  just  taken  part  lost  its  hold,  the  errand 
that  had  brought  me  to  Cahors  recovered  importance.  As 
Madame  St.  Alais's  influence  grew  weak,  the  memory  of  mad- 
emoiselle, sitting  lonely  and  scared  in  her  coach,  grew  vivid, 
until  I  turned  my  horse  fretfully,  and  endeavored  to  lose  the 
thought  in  rapid  movement. 

But  it  is  not  so  easy  to  escape  from  one's  self  at  night  as  in 
the  day.  The  soughing  of  the  wind  through  the  chestnut-trees, 
the  drifting  clouds,  and  the  sharp  ring  of  hoofs  on  the  road,  all 
laid  as  it  were  a  solemn  finger  on  the  pulses  and  stilled  them. 
The  men  behind  me  talked  in  sleepy  voices,  or  rode  silently. 
The  town  lay  a  hundred  leagues  behind.  Not  a  light  appeared 
on  the  upland.  In  the  world  of  night  through  which  wo  rode, 
a  world  of  black,  mysterious  bulks  rising  suddenly  against  the 
gray  sky,  and  as  suddenly  sinking,  we  were  the  only  inhab- 
itants. 

At  last  we  reached  the  hill  above  St.  Alais,  and  I  looked 
eagerly  for  lights  in  the  valley ;  forgetting  that,  as  it  wanted 
only  an  hour  of  midnight,  the  village  would  have  retired  hours 
before.  The  disappointment  and  the  delay — for  the  steepness 
of  the  hill  forbade  any  but  a  walking  pace — fretted  me ;  and 
when  I  heard,  a  moment  later,  a  certain  noise  behind  me,  a 
noise  I  knew  only  too  well,  I  flared  up. 

"Stay,  fool !"  I  cried,  reining  in  my  horse,  and  turning  in  the 
saddle.  "  That  mare  has  broken  her  shoe  again,  and  you  are 
riding  on  as  if  nothing  were  the  matter!  Get  down  and  see. 
Do  you  think  that  I — " 

"  Pardon,  monsieur,"  Gil  muttered.  He  had  been  sleeping  in 
his  saddle. 

ll<  scrambled  down.  The  mare  he  rode,  a  valuable  one,  had 
a  knack  of  breaking  her  hind  shoe  ;  after  which  she  never  failed 
to  lame  herself  at  the  first  opportunity.  Buton  had  tried  every 
method  of  shoeing,  but  without  success. 

I  sprang  to  the  ground  while  he  lifted  the  foot.  My  oar  had 
not  deceived  me ;  the  shoe  was  broken.  Gil  tried  to  remove  the 
jagged  fragment  left  on  the  hoof,  but  the  mare  was  restive,  and 
!)••  had  to  desist. 

••  She  cannot  go  to  Saux  in  that  state,"  I  said,  angrily. 


THE    ALARM  105 

The  men  were  silent  for  a  moment,  peering  at  the  mare. 
Then  Gil  spoke. 

"  The  St.  Alais  forge  is  not  three  hundred  yards  down  the 
lane,  monsieur,"  he  said.  "  And  the  turn  is  yonder.  We  could 
knock  up  Petit  Jean,  and  get  him  to  bring  his  pincers  here. 
Only—" 

"  Only  what  ?"  I  said,  peevishly. 

"  I  quarrelled  with  him  at  Cahors  Fair,  monsieur,"  Gil  an- 
swered, sheepishly  ;  "and  he  might  not  come  for  us." 

"  Very  well,"  I  said,  gruffly,  "  I  will  go.  And  do  you  stay 
here  and  keep  the  mare  quiet." 

Andre  held  the  stirrup  for  me  to  mount.  The  smithy,  the 
first  hovel  in  the  village,  was  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away,  and,  in 
reason,  I  should  have  ridden  to  it.  But  in  my  irritation  I  was 
ready  to  do  anything  they  did  not  propose,  and,  roughly  reject- 
ing his  help,  I  started  on  foot.  Fifty  paces  brought  me  to  the 
branch  road  that  led  to  St.  Alais,  and,  making  out  the  turning 
with  a  little  difficulty,  I  plunged  into  it,  losing  in  a  moment 
the  cheerful  sound  of  jingling  bits  and  the  murmur  of  the 
men's  voices. 

Poplars  rose  on  high  banks  on  either  side  of  the  lane  and 
made  the  place  as  dark  as  a  pit,  and  I  had  almost  to  grope  my 
way.  A  stumble  added  to  my  irritation,  and  I  cursed  the  St. 
Alais  for  the  ruts,  and  the  moon  for  its  untimely  setting.  The 
ceaseless  whispering  of  the  poplar  leaves  went  with  me,  and,  in 
some  unaccountable  way,  annoyed  me.  I  stumbled  again,  and 
swore  at  Gil,  and  then  stopped  to  listen.  I  was  in  the  road,  and 
yet  I  heard  the  jingling  of  bits  again,  as  if  the  horses  were  fol- 
lowing me. 

I  stopped  angrily  to  listen,  thinking  that  the  men  had  dis- 
obeyed my  orders.  Then  I  found  that  the  sound  came  from  the 
front,  and  was  heavier  and  harder  than  the  ringing  of  bit  or 
bridle.  I  groped  my  way  forward,  wondering  somewhat,  until 
a  faint,  ruddy  light,  shining  on  the  darkness  and  the  poplars, 
prepared  me  for  the  truth — welcome,  though  it  seemed  of  the 
strangest — that  the  forge  was  at  work. 

As  I  took  this  in,  I  turned  a  corner,  and  came  within  sight  of 
the  smithy,  and  stood  in  astonishment.  The  forge  was  in  full 


106  THE    RED    COCKADE 

blast.     Two  hammers  were  at  work ;  I  could  see  them  rising 
and  falling,  and  hear,  though  they  seemed  to  he  muffled,  the 
rhythmical  jarring  clang  as  they  struck  the  metal.     The  ruddy 
glare  of  the  fire   flooded  the  road   and  burnished  the  opp 
trees,  and  flung  long,  black  shadows  on  the  sky. 

Such  a  sight  filled  me  with  the  utmost  astonishment,  for  it 
was  nearly  midnight.  Fortunately,  something  else  I  saw  aston- 
ished me  still  more,  and  stayed  my  foot.  Between  the  point 
where  I  stood  by  the  hedge  and  the  forge  a  number  of  men 
were  moving  and  flitting  to  and  fro  ;  men  with  bare  arms  and 
matted  heads,  half-naked,  with  skins  burned  black.  It  would 
have  been  hard  to  count  them,  they  shifted  so  quickly  ;  and  I 
did  not  try.  It  was  enough  for  me  that  one-half  of  them  car- 
ried pikes  and  pitchforks,  and  that  one  man  seemed  to  be  de- 
tailing them  into  groups,  and  giving  them  directions  ;  and  that, 
notwithstanding  the  occasional  jar  of  the  hammers,  an  air  of 
ferocious  stealth  marked  their  movements. 

For  a  moment  I  stood  rooted  to  the  spot.  Then,  instinctively, 
I  stepped  aside  into  the  shadow  of  the  hedge,  and  looked  again. 
The  man  who  acted  as  the  leader  carried  an  axe  on  his  shoul- 
der, the  broad  blade  of  which,  as  it  caught  the  glow  of  the 
furnace,  seemed  to  be  bathed  in  blood.  He  was  never  still — 
this  man.  One  moment  he  moved  from  group  to  group,  ges- 
ticulating, ordering,  encouraging.  Now  he  pulled  a  man  out  of 
one  troop  and  thrust  him  forcibly  into  another;  now  he  made  a 
little  speech,  which  was  dumb  play  to  me,  a  hundred  paces 
away  ;  now  he  went  into  the  forge,  and  his  huge  luilk  for  a 
moment  intercepted  the  light.  It  was  iVtit  Jean,  the  smith. 

I  made  use  of  the  momentary  darkness  which  he  caused  on 
one  of  these  occasions  and  stole  a  little  nearer.  Fur  I  knew 
now  what  was  before  me.  I  knew  perfectly  that  all  this  meant 
blood,  fire,  outrage  ;  flames  rising  l»  heaven,  screams  startling 
the  stricken  night !  But  I  must  know  more  if  I  would  do 
anything.  I  went  nearer,  therefore,  creeping  along  the  hedge 
and  crouching  in  the  ditch,  until  no  more  than  twelve  yards 
separated  me  from  the  muster.  Then  I  stood  still,  as  IVtit 
Jean  came  out  again  to  distribute  another  bundle  of  weapons, 
clutched  instantly  and  eagerly  by  grimy  hands.  I  could  hear 


"  FOR    A    MOMENT    I    STOOD    ROOTED    TO    THE    SPOT ' 


THE    ALARM  109 

now,  and  I  shuddered  at  what  I  heard.  Gargouf  was  in  every 
mouth.  Gargouf,  the  steward,  coupled  with  grisly  tortures  and 
slow  deaths,  with  old  sins  and  outrages  and  tyrannies,  now  for 
the  first  time  voiced,  now  to  be  expiated  ! 

At  last  one  man  laid  the  torch  by  crying  alond,  "  To  the 
chateau !  To  the  chateau  !"  and  in  an  instant  the  words 
changed  the  feelings  with  which  I  had  hitherto  stared  into 
immediate  horror.  I  started  forward.  My  impulse,  for  a  mo- 
ment, was  to  step  into  the  light  and  confront  them — to  per- 
suade, menace,  cajole,  turn  them  any  way  from  their  purpose. 
But  in  the  same  moment  reflection  showed  me  the  hopelessness 
of  the  attempt.  These  were  no  longer  peasants,  dull,  patient 
clods,  such  as  I  had  known  all  my  life,  but  maddened  beasts ; 
I  read  it  in  their  gestures  and  the  growl  of  their  voices.  To 
step  forward  would  be  only  to  sacrifice  myself ;  and  with  this 
thought  I  crept  back,  gained  the  deeper  shadow,  and,  turning 
on  my  heel,  sped  down  the  lane.  The  ruts  and  the  darkness 
were  no  longer  anything  to  me.  If  I  stumbled,  I  did  not  notice 
it.  If  I  fell,  it  was  no  matter.  In  less  than  a  minute  I  was 
standing  breathless  by  the  astonished  servants,  striving  to  tell 
them  quickly  what  they  must  do. 

"  The  village  is  rising  !"  I  panted.  "  They  are  going  to  burn 
the  chateau,  and  mademoiselle  is  in  it !  Gil,  ride,  gallop,  lose 
not  a  minute,  to  Cahors,  and  tell  M.  le  Marquis.  He  must  bring 
what  forces  he  can.  And  do  you,  Andre,  go  to  Saux.  Tell 
Father  Benoit.  Bid  him  do  his  utmost — bring  all  he  can." 

For  answer  they  stared,  open-mouthed,  through  the  dusk. 
"And  the  mare,  monsieur?"  one  asked,  at  last,  dully. 

"Fool!  Let  her  go!"  I  cried.  "The  mare?  Do  you  under- 
stand ?  The  chateau  is — " 

"  And  you,  monsieur  ?" 

"  I  am  going  to  the  house  by  the  garden  wing.  Now  go  ! 
Go,  men  !"  I  continued.  "  A  hundred  livres  to  each  of  you  if 
the  house  is  saved  !" 

I  said  the  house,  because  I  dared  not  speak  what  was  really 
in  my  mind,  because  1  dared  not  picture  the  girl,  young,  help- 
less, a  woman,  in  the  hands  of  those  monsters.  Yet  it  was 
that  which  goaded  me  now ;  it  was  that  which  gave  me  such 


110  THE    KKD    COCKADE 

strength  that,  before  the  men  had  ridden  many  yards,  I  had 
forced  my  way  through  the  thick  fence  as  if  it  bad  been  a  mass 
of  cobwebs.  Once  on  the  other  side,  in  the  open,  I  hastened 
across  one  field  and  a  second,  skirted  the  village,  and  made  for 
the  gardens  which  abutted  on  the  east  wing  of  the  chateau.  I 
knew  these  well;  the  part  farthest  from  the  house,  and  most 
easy  of  entrance,  was  a  wilderness,  in  which  I  had  often  played 
as  a  child.  There  was  no  fence  round  this  except  a  wooden 
paling,  and  none  between  it  and  the  more  orderly  portion,  while 
a  side  door  opened  from  the  latter  into  a  passage  leading  to  the 
great  hall  of  the  chateau.  The  house,  a  long,  regular  building, 
reared  by  the  marquis's  father,  was  composed  of  two  wings  and 
a  main  block.  All  faced  the  end  of  the  village  street  at  a  dis- 
tance of  a  hundred  paces — a  wide,  dusty,  ill-planted  avenue 
leading  from  the  iron  gates,  which  stood  always  open,  to  the 
state  entrance. 

The  rioters  had  only  a  short  distance  to  go,  therefore,  and 
no  obstacle  between  them  and  the  house  ;  none  when  they 
reached  it  of  greater  consequence  than  ordinary  doors  and  shut- 
ters, should  the  latter  be  closed.  As  I  ran  I  shuddered  to  think 
how  defenceless  all  lay ;  and  how  quickly  the  wretches,  burst- 
ing in  the  doors,  would  overrun  the  shining  parquets  and  sweep 
up  the  spacious  staircase. 

The  thought  added  wings  to  my  feet.  I  had  farther  to  go 
than  they  had,  and  over  hedges,  but  before  the  first  sounds  of 
their  approach  reached  the  house  I  was  already  in  the  wilder- 
ness, and  forcing  my  way  through  it,  stumbling  over  stumps 
and  bushes,  falling  more  than  once,  covered  with  dust  and 
sweat,  but  still  pushing  on. 

At  last  I  sprang  into  the  open  garden,  with  its  shadowy 
walks  and  nymphs  and  fauns,  and  looked  towards  the  village. 
A  dull  red  light  was  beginning  to  show  among  the  trunks  of  the 
avenue;  a  murmur  of  voices  sounded  in  tlu-  distance.  They 
were  coming!  I  wasted  no  more  than  a  single  glance  ;  then  I 
ran  down  the  walk  between  the  statues.  In  a  moment  I  passed 
into  the  darker  shadow  under  the  house  ;  I  was  at  the  door.  I 
thrust  my  shoulder  against  it.  It  resisted  ;  it  resisted,  and 
every  moment  was  precious.  I  could  no  longer  see  the  ap- 


THE    ALARM  111 

preaching  lights  nor  hear  the  voices  of  the  crowd  —  the  angle 
of  the  house  interposed ;  but  I  could  imagine  only  too  vividly 
how  they  were  coming  on ;  I  fancied  them  already  at  the  great 
door. 

I  hammered  on  the  panels  with  my  fist ;  then  I  fumbled  for 
the  latch,  and  found  it.  It  rose,  but  the  door  held.  I  shook 
it.  I  shook  it  again  in  a  frenzy ;  at  last,  forgetting  caution,  I 
shouted — shouted  more  loudly.  Then,  after  an  age,  as  it  seemed 
to  me,  standing  panting  in  the  darkness,  I  heard  halting  foot- 
steps come  along  the  passage,  and  saw  a  line  of  light  grow  and 
brighten  under  the  door.  At  last  a  quavering  voice  asked  : 

"  Who  is  it  ?" 

"  M.  de  Saux,"  I  answered,  impatiently.  "  M.  de  Saux.  Let 
me  in;  let  me  in.  Do  you  hear?"  And  I  struck  the  panels 
wrathfully. 

"  Monsieur,"  the  voice  answered,  quavering  more  and  more, 
"  Is  there  anything  the  matter  ?" 

"  Matter  ?  They  are  going  to  burn  the  house,  fool !"  I  cried. 
"  Open  !  open  !  if  you  do  not  wish  to  be  burned  in  your  beds  !" 

For  a  moment  I  fancied  that  the  man  still  hesitated.  Then 
he  unbarred.  In  a  twinkling  I  was  inside,  in  a  narrow  passage, 
with  dingy,  stained  walls.  An  old  man,  lean-jawed  and  feeble, 
an  old  valet  whom  I  had  often  seen  at  worsted  work  in  the  ante- 
room, confronted  me,  holding  an  iron  candlestick.  The  light 
shook  in  his  hands,  and  his  jaw  fell  as  he  looked  at  me.  I  saw 
that  I  had  nothing  to  expect  from  him,  and  I  snatched  the  bar 
from  his  hands  and  set  it  back  in  its  place  myself.  Then  I 
seized  the  light. 

"  Quick !"  I  said,  passionately.     "  To  your  mistress." 

"  Monsieur  ?" 

"  Up-stairs  !     Up-stairs  !" 

He  had  more  to  say,  but  I  did  not  wait  to  hear  it.  Knowing 
the  way  and  having  the  candle,  I  left  him,  and  hurried  along 
the  passage.  Stumbling  over  three  or  four  mattresses  that 
lay  on  the  floor,  doubtless  for  the  servants,  I  reached  the  hall. 
Here  my  taper  shone  a  mere  speck  in  a  cavern  of  blackness ; 
but  it  gave  me  light  enough  to  see  that  the  door  was  barred, 
and  I  turned  to  the  staircase.  As  I  set  my  foot  on  the  lowest 


112  THK    RED    COCKADE 

step  the  old  valet,  who  was  following  me  as  fast  as  his  trem- 
bling legs  would  carry  him,  blundered  against  a  spinning-wheel 
that  stood  in  the  hall.  It  fell  with  a  clatter,  and  in  u  moment 
a  chorus  of  screams  and  cries  broke  out  above.  1  sprang  up 
the  stairs  three  at  a  stride,  and  in  the  lobby  came  on  the 
screamers — a  terrified  group,  whose  alarm  the  doubtful  light  of 
a  tallow-candle,  that  stood  beside  them  on  the  floor,  could  not 
exaggerate.  Nearest  to  me  stood  an  old  footman  and  a  boy  ; 
their  terror-stricken  eyes  met  mine  as  I  mounted  the  last  stairs. 
Behind  them,  and  crouching  against  a  tapestry-covered  seat 
that  ran  along  the  wall,  were  the  rest — three  or  four  women, 
who  shrieked  and  hid  their  faces  in  one  another's  garments. 
They  did  not  look  up  or  take  any  heed  of  me,  but  continued 
to  scream  steadily. 

The  old  man,  with  a  quavering  oath,  tried  to  still  them. 

"  Where  is  Gargouf  ?"  I  asked  him. 

"  I  le  has  gone  to  fasten  the  back  doors,  monsieur,"  he  answered. 

"  Ami  mademoiselle  ?" 

"  She  is  yonder." 

He  turned  as  he  spoke,  and  I  saw  behind  him  a  heavy  cur- 
tain hiding  the  oriel-window  of  the  lobby.  It  moved  while  I 
looked,  and  mademoiselle  emerged  from  its  folds,  her  small, 
childish  face  pale  but  strangely  composed.  She  wore  a  light, 
loose  robe,  hastily  arranged,  and  had  her  hair  hanging  free  at 
her  back.  In  the  gloom  and  confusion,  which  the  feeble  can- 
dles did  little  to  disperse,  she  did  not  at  first  see  me. 

"  Has  Gargouf  come  back  ?"  she  asked. 

"  No,  mademoiselle,  but — " 

The  man  was  going  to  point  me  out;  she  interrupted  him 
with  a  sharp  cry  of  anger. 

"  Stop  these  fools !"  she  said.  "  Oh,  stop  these  fools !  I  can- 
not hear  myself  speak.  Let  some  one  call  Gargouf !  Is  there 
no  one  to  do  anything?" 

One  of  the  old  men  pottered  off  to  do  it,  leaving  her  standing 
in  the  middle  of  the  terror-stricken  group — a  white,  pathetic 
little  figure,  keeping  fear  at  bay  with  both  hands.  The  dark 
curtains  behind  threw  her  face  and  form  into  high  relief ;  but 
admiration  was  the  last  thought  in  my  mind. 


1  AN   OLD   MAN,  LEAN-JAWED   AND   FEEBLE,  CONFRONTED   ME ' 


THE    ALARM  115 

"  Mademoiselle,"  I  said,  "  you  must  fly  by  the  garden  door." 

She  started  and  stared  at  me,  her  eyes  dilating. 

"  Monsieur  de  Saux,"  she  muttered.  "  Are  you  here  ?  I  do 
not — I  do  not  understand.  I  thought — " 

"  The  village  is  rising,"  I  said.  "  In  a  moment  they  will  be 
here." 

"  They  are  here  already,"  she  answered,  faintly. 

She  meant  only  that  she  had  seen  their  approach  from  the 
window ;  but  a  dull  murmur  that  at  the  moment  rose  on  the  air 
outside,  and  penetrating  the  walls,  grew  each  instant  louder  and 
more  sinister,  seemed  to  give  another  significance  to  her  words. 
The  women  listened  with  white  faces,  then  began  to  scream 
afresh.  A  reckless  movement  of  one  of  them  dashed  out  the 
nearer  of  the  two  lights.  The  old  man  who  had  admitted  me 
began  to  whimper. 

"Oh,  man  Dieuf"  I  cried,  fiercely,  "can  no  one  still  these 
cravens?"  For  the  noise  almost  robbed  me  of  the  power  of 
thought,  and  never  had  thought  been  more  necessary.  "  Be 
still,  fools!"  I  continued.  " No  one  will  hurt  you.  And  do  you, 
mademoiselle,  please  to  come  with  me.  There  is  not  a  mo- 
ment to  be  lost.  The  garden  by  which  I  entered — " 

But  she  looked  at  me  in  such  a  way  that  I  stopped. 

"  Is  it  necessary  to  go  ?"  she  said,  doubtfully.  "  Is  there  no 
other  way,  monsieur?" 

The  noise  outside  was  growing  louder.  "  What  men  have 
you  ?"  I  said. 

"Here  is  Gargouf,"  she  answered,  promptly.  "He  will  tell 
you." 

I  turned  to  the  staircase,  and  saw  the  steward's  face,  at  all 
times  harsh  and  grim,  rising  out  of  the  well  of  the  stairs.  He 
had  a  candle  in  one  hand  and  a  pistol  in  the  other ;  and  his 
features  as  his  eyes  met  mine  wore  an  expression  of  dogged 
anger,  the  sight  of  which  drew  fresh  cries  from  the  women. 
But  I  rejoiced  to  see  him,  for  he  at  least  betrayed  no  signs  of 
flinching.  I  asked  him  what  men  he  had. 

"  You  see  them,"  he  answered,  dryly,  betraying  no  surprise  at 
my  presence. 

"  Only  these  ?" 


116  THE    RED    COCKADE 

"  There  were  three  more,"  he  said.  u  But  I  found  the  doors 
unbarred,  and  the-  men  gone.  I  am  keeping  this,"  he  continued, 
with  a  dark  glance  at  his  pistol,  "for  one  of  them." 

••  Mademoiselle  must  go!"  I  said. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  with  an  indifference  that  mad- 
dened me.  "  IIow  ?"  he  asked. 

"  By  the  garden  door." 

"  They  are  there.     The  house  is  surrounded." 

I  cried  out  at  that,  in  despair ;  and  on  the  instant,  as  if  to 
give  point  to  his  words,  a  furious  blow  fell  on  the  great  doors 
below,  and,  awakening  every  echo  in  the  house,  proclaimed  that 
the  moment  was  come.  A  second  shock  followed;  then  a  rain 
'of  blows.  While  the  maids  shrieked  and  clung  to  one  another, 
I  looked  at  mademoiselle,  and  she  at  me. 

"  We  must  hide  you,"  I  muttered. 

"  No,"  she  said. 

"  There  must  be  some  place,"  I  said,  looking  round  me  des- 
perately, and  disregarding  her  answer.  The  noise  of  the  blows 
was  deafening.  "In  the — " 

"  I  will  not  hide,  monsieur,"  she  answered.  Her  cheeks 
were  white,  and  her  eyes  seemed  to  flicker  with  each  blow. 
But  the  maiden  who  had  been  dumb  before  me  a  few  days 
earlier  was  gone,  and  in  her  place  I  saw  Mademoiselle  de  St. 
Alais,  conscious  of  a  hundred  ancestors.  "  They  are  our  people. 
I  will  meet  them,"  she  continued,  stepping  forward  bravely, 
though  her  lip  trembled.  "  Then  if  they  dare — " 

"They  are  mad!"  1  answered;  "they  are  mad!  Yet  it  is  a 
chance ;  and  we  have  few !  If  I  can  get  to  them  before  they 
break  in  I  may  do  something.  One  moment,  mademoiselle ; 
screen  the  light,  will  you  ?" 

Some  one  did  so,  and  I  turned  feverishly  and  caught  hold  of 
the  curtain.  But  Gargouf  was  before  me.  He  seized  my  arm, 
and  for  the  moment  checked  nn-. 

"  What  is  it?     What  are  you  going  to  do?"  he  growled. 

••  Speak  to  them  from  this  window." 

"  They  will  not  list.-n." 

••  >;ill,  I  will  try.     What  else  is  there?" 

"  Lead  and  iron,"  he  answered,  in  a  tone  that  made  me  shiver. 


THE    ALARM  ] 1 7 

"  Here  are  M.  le  Marquis's  sporting  guns ;  they  shoot  straight. 
Take  one,  M.  le  Vicomte;  I  will  take  the  other.  There  are 
two  more,  and  the  men  can  shoot.  We  can  hold  the  staircase, 
at  least." 

I  took  one  of  the  guns,  mechanically,  amid  a  dismal  uproar — 
wailing  and  the  thunder  of  blows  within ;  outside,  the  savage 
booing  of  the  crowd.  No  help  could  come  for  another  hour ; 
and  for  a  moment  in  this  desperate  strait  my  heart  failed  me. 
I  wondered  at  the  steward's  courage. 

"You  are  not  afraid?"  I  said.     I  knew  how  he  had  trampled 
on  the  poor  wretches  outside ;  how  he  had  starved  them  and 
ground  them  down  and  misused  them  through  long  years. 
He  cursed  the  dogs. 

"  You  will  stand  by  mademoiselle  ?"  I  said,  feverishly.  I 
think  it  was  to  hearten  myself  by  his  assurance. 

He  squeezed  my  hand  in  a  grip  of  iron,  and  I  asked  no 
more.  In  a  moment,  however,  I  cried  aloud. 

"  Ah,  but  they  will  burn  the  house  !"  I  said.     "  What  is  the 

use  of  holding  the  staircase,  when  they  can  burn  us  like  rats !" 

"  We   shall   die  together,"  was   his   only  answer.     And  he 

kicked  one  of  the  weeping,  crouching  women.     "  Be  still,  you 

whelp!"  he  said.     "Do  you  think  that  will  help  you?" 

But  I  heard  the  door  below  groan,  and  I  sprang  to  the  win- 
dow and  dragged  aside  the  curtain,  letting  in  a  ruddy  glow 
that  dyed  the  ceiling  the  color  of  blood.  My  one  fear  was  that 
I  might  be  too  late ;  that  the  door  would  yield  or  the  crowd 
break  in  at  the  back  before  I  could  get  a  hearing.  Luckily 
the  casement  gave  to  the  hand,  and  I  thrust  it  open,  and,  meet- 
ing a  cold  blast  of  air,  in  a  twinkling  was  outside  on  the  narrow 
ledge  of  the  window  over  the  great  doors,  looking  down  on  such 
a  scene  as  few  chateaux  in  France  had  witnessed  since  the  days 
of  the  third  Henry — God  be  thanked  ! 

A  little  to  one  side  the  great  dove-cot  was  burning,  and 
sending  up  a  trail  of  smoke  that,  blown  across  the  avenue,  hid 
all  beyond  in  a  murky  reek,  through  which  the  flames  now  and 
again  flickered  hotly.  Men  busy  as  devils,  black  against  the 
light,  were  plying  the  fire  with  straw.  Beyond  the  dove  -  cot 
an  out-house  and  a  stack  were  blazing ;  and  nearer,  immediately 


118  THE    RED    COCK  A D K 

before  the  house,  a  crowd  of  moving  figures  were  hurrying  to 
ami  fro,  some  battering  the  doors  ami  \vindo\vs,  others  bring- 
ing fuel,  .-ill  moving,  yelling,  laughing — laughing  the  laughter  of 
fiends  to  the  music  of  crackling  flames  and  shivering  glass. 

I  saw  Petit  Jean  in  the  fore-front  giving  orders,  and  men 
round  him.  There  were  women,  too,  hanging  on  the  skirts 
of  the  men  ;  and  one  woman,  in  the  midst  of  all,  half-naked, 
screaming  curses  and  brandishing  her  arms.  It  was  she  who 
added  the  last  touch  of  horror  to  the  scene;  and  she,  too,  who 
saw  me  first,  and  pointed  me  out  with  dreadful  words,  and 
cursed  me  and  the  house,  and  cried  for  our  blood. 


CHAPTER  VIII 
GARGOUF 

SOME  called  for  silence,  while  others  stared  at  me  stupidly, 
or  pointed  me  out  to  their  fellows ;  but  the  greater  part  took 
up  the  woman's  cry,  and,  enraged  by  my  presence,  shook  their 
fists  at  me,  and  shouted  vile  threats  and  viler  abuse.  For  a  min- 
ute the  air  rang  with  "  A  bas  les  seigneurs  !  A  bas  les  tyrans  !" 
And  I  found  this  bad  enough.  But  presently,  whether  they 
caught  sight  of  the  steward,  or  merely  returned  to  their  first 
hatred,  from  which  my  appearance  had  only  for  the  moment 
diverted  them,  the  cry  changed  to  a  sullen  roar  of  "  Gargouf ! 
Gargouf !"  A  roar  so  full  of  the  lust  for  blood,  and  coupled 
with  threats  so  terrible,  that  the  heart  sickened  and  the  cheek 
grew  pale  at  the  sound. 

"  Gargouf !  Gargouf  !  Give  us  Gargouf !"  they  howled.  "  Give 
us  Gargouf !  and  he  shall  eat  hot  gold  !  Give  us  Gargouf,  and 
he  shall  need  no  more  of  our  daughters !" 

I  shuddered  to  think  that  mademoiselle  heard ;  shuddered 
to  think  of  the  peril  in  which  she  stood.  The  wretches  be- 
low were  no  longer  men ;  under  the  influence  of  this  frenzied 
woman  they  were  mad  brute  beasts,  drunk  with  fire  and  license. 
As  the  smoke  from  the  burning  building  eddied  away  for  a 
moment  across  the  crowd  and  hid  it,  and  still  that  hoarse  cry 
came  out  of  the  murk,  I  could  believe  that  I  heard  not  men, 
but  maddened  hounds  raving  in  the  kennel. 

Again  the  smoke  drifted  away,  and  some  one  in  the  rear 
shot  at  me.  I  heard  the  glass  splinter  beside  me.  Another, 
a  little  nearer,  flung  up  a  burning  fragment  that,  alighting  on 
the  ledge,  blazed  and  sputtered  by  my  foot.  I  kicked  it  down. 

The  act  for  the  moment  stilled  the  riot,  and  I  seized  the 


120  THE    RED    COCKADE 

opportunity.  "  You  dogs !"  I  said,  striving  to  make  my  voice 
heard  above  the  hissing  of  the  flames.  "  Begone  !  The  soldiers 
from  Cahors  are  on  the  road.  I  sent  for  them  this  hour  ba-'k. 
Begone  before  they  come,  and  I  will  intercede  for  you.  Stay 
and  do  further  mischief,  and  you  shall  hang,  to  the  last  man  !" 

Some  answered  with  a  yell  of  derision,  crying  out  that  the 
soldiers  were  with  them.  More,  that  the  nobles  were  abolished, 
and  their  houses  given  to  the  people.  One,  who  was  drunk, 
kept  shouting:  "A  bas  la  Bastille!  A  bas  la  Bastille!"  with 
a  stupid  persistence. 

A  moment  more  and  I  should  lose  my  chance.  I  waved  ray 
hand.  "  What  do  you  want  ?"  I  cried. 

"Justice!"  one  shouted,  and  another,  "Vengeance!"  A 
third,  "  Gargouf !"  And  then  all,  "  Gargouf !  Gargouf !"  until 
Petit  Jean  stilled  the  tumult. 

"  Have  done !"  he  cried  to  them,  in  his  coarse,  brutal  voice. 
"Have  we  come  here  only  to  yell?  And  do  you,  seigneur, 
give  up  Gargouf,  and  you  shall  go  free.  Otherwise  we  will 
burn  the  house  and  all  in  it." 

"  You  villain  !"  I  said.     "  We  have  guns,  and — " 

"  The  rats  have  teeth,  but  they  burn !  They  burn !"  he 
answered,  pointing  triumphantly  with  the  axe  he  held  to  the 
flaming  buildings.  "  They  burn !  Yet  listen,  seigneur,"  he 
continued,  "  and  you  shall  have  a  minute  to  make  up  your 
minds.  Give  up  Gargouf  to  us  to  do  with  as  we  please,  and 
the  rest  shall  go." 

"  All  ?" 

"All." 

I  trembled.  "  But  Gargouf,  man  ?"  I  said.  "  Will  you — 
what  will  you  do  with  him  ?" 

"  Roast  him !"  the  smith  cried,  with  a  fearful  oath  ;  and 
the  wretches  round  him  laughed  like  fiends.  "Roast  him,  when 
we  have  plucked  him  bare." 

I  shuddered.  From  Cahors  help  could  not  come  for  another 
hour.  From  Saux  it  might  not  come  at  all.  The  doors  below 
me  could  not  stand  long,  and  these  brutes  were  thirty  to  one, 
and  mad  with  the  lust  of  vengeance.  With  the  wrongs,  the 
crimes,  the  vices  of  centuries  to  avenge,  they  dreamed  that  the 


GARGOUF  121 

day  of  requital  was  come,  and  the  dream  had  turned  clods  into 
devils.  The  very  flames  they  had  kindled  gave  them  assurance 
of  it.  The  fire  was  in  their  blood.  A  bas  la  Bastille !  A  bas 
les  tyrans ! 

I  hesitated. 

I      "  One  minute !"  the  smith  cried,  with  a  boastful  gesture — 
"  one  minute  we  give  you  !     Gargouf  or  all." 

"  Wait !" 

I  turned  and  went  in  —  turned  from  the  smoky  glare,  the 
circling  pigeons,  the  grotesque  black  figures,  and  the  terror 
and  confusion  of  the  night,  and  went  in  to  that  other  scene, 
scarcely  less  dreadful  to  me,  though  only  two  candles  gutter- 
ing in  tin  sockets  lit  the  landing,  and  it  borrowed  from  the 
outside  no  more  than  the  ruddy  reflection  of  horror.  The 
women  had  ceased  to  scream  and  sob,  and  crowded  together 
silent  and  panic-stricken.  The  old  men  and  the  lad  moistened 
their  lips,  and  looked  furtively  from  the  arms  they  handled  to 
one  another's  faces.  Mademoiselle  alone  stood  erect,  pale,  firm. 
I  shot  a  glance  at  the  slender  little  figure  in  the  white  robe, 
then  I  looked  away.  I  dared  not  say  what  I  had  in  my  mind. 
1  knew  that  she  had  heard,  and — 

She  said  it !  "  You  have  answered  them  ?"  she  muttered, 
her  eyes  meeting  mine. 

"  No,"  I  said,  looking  away  again.  "  They  have  given  us  a 
minute  to  decide,  and — " 

"  I  heard  them,"  she  answered,  shivering.    "  Tell  them." 

"  But,  mademoiselle — " 

"  Tell  them  never !  Never !"  she  cried,  feverishly.  "  Be  quick, 
or  they  will  think  that  we  are  dreaming  of  it." 

Yet  I  hesitated — while  the  flames  crackled  outside.  What, 
after  all,  was  this  rascal's  life  beside  hers  ?  What  his  taint- 
ed existence,  who  all  these  years  had  ground  the  faces  of  the 
poor  and  dishonored  the  helpless,  beside  her  youth?  It  was  a 
dreadful  moment,  and  I  hesitated.  "  Mademoiselle,"  I  muttered 
at  last,  avoiding  her  eyes,  "you  have  not  thought,  perhaps. 
But  to  refuse  this  offer  may  be  to  sacrifice  all — and  not  save 
him." 

"  I  have  thought !"  she  answered,  with  a  passionate  gesture. 


iL'li  THE    KED    COCKADK 

"  I  have  thought.  But  lie  was  my  father's  steward,  monsieur, 
and  he  is  my  brother's;  if  he  has  sinned,  it  was  for  them. 
It  is  for  them  to  pay  the  penalty.  And — after  all,  it  may  not 
come  to  that,"  she  continued,  her  face  changing,  and  her  • 
seeking  mine,  full  of  sudden  terror.  "They  will  not  dare,  I 
think.  They  will  never  dare  to — " 

"  \Vhcre  is  he?"  I  asked,  hoarsely. 

She  pointed  to  the  corner  behind  her.  I  looked,  and  could 
scarcely  believe  my  eyes.  The  man  whom  I  had  left  full  of  a 
desperate  courage,  prepared  to  sell  his  life  dearly,  now  crouched 
a  huddled  figure  in  the  darkest  angle  of  the  tapestry  Beat. 
Though  I  had  spoken  of  him  in  a  low  voice,  and  without  nam- 
ing him,  he  heard  me,  and  looked  up,  and  showed  a  face  to 
match  his  attitude — a  face  pallid  and  sweating  with  fear  ;  a  face 
that,  vile  at  the  best  and  when  redeemed  by  hardihood,  looked 
now  the  vilest  thing  on  earth.  Cicl !  that  fear  should  reduce  a 
man  to  that!  He  tried  to  speak  as  his  eyes  met  mine,  but  his 
lips  moved  inaudibly,  and  he  only  crouched  lower,  the  picture 
of  panic  and  guilt. 

I  cried  out  to  the  others  to  know  what  had  happened  to  him. 
"  What  is  it  ?"  I  said. 

No  one  answered;  and  then  I  seemed  to  know.  While  he 
had  thought  all  in  danger,  while  he  had  felt  himself  only  one 
among  many,  the  common  courage  of  a  man  had  supported 
him.  But  God  knows  what  voices — only  too  well  known  to  him — 
what  accents  of  starving  men  and  wronged  women,  had  spoken 
in  that  fierce  cry  for  his  life!  What  plaints  from  the  dead, 
what  curses  of  babes  hanging  on  dry  breasts!  At  any  rate, 
whatever  he  had  heard  in  that  call  for  his  blood — his  blood — 
it  had  unmanned  him.  In  a  moment,  in  a  twinkling,  it  had 
dashed  him  back  into  this  corner,  a  trembling  craven,  holding 
up  his  hands  for  his  life. 

Such  fear  is  infectious,  and  I  strode  to  him  in  a  rage  and 
shook  him. 

"Get  up,  hound!"  I  said.  "Get  up  and  strike  a  blow  for 
your  life  ;  or,  by  Heaven,  no  one  else  will!" 

II--  stood  up.  ••  Ye-,  yes,  monsieur,"  he  muttered.  "  I  will ! 
I  will  stand  up  for  mademoiselle.  I  will — " 


"  '  WHERE   IS   HE  ?'    I    ASKED,  HOARSELY  " 


GARGOUF  125 

But  I  heard  his  teeth  chatter,  and  I  saw  that  his  eyes  wan- 
dered this  way  and  that,  as  do  a  hare's  when  the  dogs  close  on 
it ;  and  I  knew  that  I  had  nothing  to  expect  from  him.  A  howl 
outside  warned  me  at  the  same  moment  that  our  respite  was 
spent ;  and  I  flung  him  off  and  turned  to  the  window. 

Too  late,  however.  Before  I  could  reach  it  a  thundering  blow 
on  the  doors  below  set  the  candles  flickering  and  the  women 
shrieking ;  then  for  an  instant  I  thought  that  all  was  over. 
A  stone  came  through  the  window  ;  another  followed  it,  and 
another.  The  shattered  glass  fell  over  us  ;  the  draught  put  out 
one  light,  and  the  women,  terrified  beyond  control,  ran  this  way 
and  that  with  the  others,  shrieking  dismally.  This,  the  yelling 
of  the  crowd  outside,  the  sombre  light  and  more  sombre  glare, 
the  utter  confusion  and  panic  so  distracted  me  that  for  a  mo- 
ment I  stood  irresolute,  inactive,  looking  wildly  about  me — a 
poltroon  waiting  for  some  one  to  lead.  Then  a  touch  fell  on 
my  arm,  and  I  turned  and  found  mademoiselle  at  my  side,  and 
saw  her  face  upturned  to  mine. 

It  was  white,  and  her  eyes  were  wide  with  the  terror  she  had 
so  long  repressed.  Her  hold  on  me  grew  heavier  ;  she  swayed 
against  me,  clinging  to  me. 

"  Oh  !"  she  whispered  in  my  ear,  in  a  voice  that  went  to  my 
heart,  "  save  me  !  save  me  !  Can  nothing  be  done,  monsieur  ? 
Must  we  die  ?" 

"  We  must  gain  time,"  I  said.  My  courage  returned  wonder- 
fully as  I  felt  her  weight  on  my  arm.  "  All  is  not  over  yet,"  I 
said.  "  I  will  speak  to  them." 

And  setting  her  on  the  seat,  I  sprang  to  the  window  and 
passed  through  it.  Outside,  things  at  a  first  glance  seemed  un- 
changed. The  wavering  flames,  the  glow,  the  trail  of  smoke 
and  sparks,  all  were  there.  But  a  second  glance  showed  that 
the  rioters  no  longer  moved  to  and  fro  about  the  fire,  but  were 
massed  directly  below  me  in  a  dense  body  round  the  doors, 
waiting  for  them  to  give  way.  I  shouted  to  them  frantically, 
hoping  still  to  delay  them.  I  called  Petit  Jean  by  name.  But 
I  could  not  make  myself  heard  in  the  uproar,  or  they  would  not 
heed  ;  and  while  I  vainly  tried,  the  great  doors  yielded  at  last, 
and  with  a  roar  of  triumph  the  crowd  burst  in. 


126  THE    RED    COCKADE 

Not  a  moment  was  to  be  lost.  I  sprang  back  through  the 
window,  clutching  up  as  I  did  so  the  gun  Gargouf  had  given  me 
— and  then  I  stood  in  amazement.  The  landing  was  empty  ! 
The  rush  of  feet  across  the  hall  below  shook  the  house.  Ten 
seconds  and  the  mob,  whose  screams  of  triumph  aln-adv  eehoed 
through  the  passages,  would  be  on  us.  But  where  was  made- 
moiselle ?  Where  was  Gargouf?  Where  were  the  servants,  the 
waiting-maids,  the  boy  whom  I  had  left  here  ? 

I  stood  an  instant  paralyzed,  like  a  man  in  a  nightmare, 
brought  up  short  in  that  supreme  moment.  Then,  as  the  first 
crash  of  heavy  feet  sounded  on  the  stairs,  I  heard  a  faint 
scream,  somewhere  to  my  right,  as  I  stood.  On  the  instant  I 
sprang  to  the  door  which  on  that  side  led  to  the  left  wing.  I 
tore  it  open  and  passed  through  it — not  a  moment  too  soon. 
The  slightest  delay,  and  the  foremost  rioters  must  have  seen 
me.  As  it  was  I  had  time  to  turn  the  key,  which,  fortunately, 
was  on  the  inside. 

Then  I  hurried  across  the  room,  making  my  way  to  an  open 
door  at  the  farther  end,  from  which  light  issued  ;    I  p.-.- 
through  the  room  beyond,  which  was  empty,  then  into  the  last 
of  the  suite. 

Here  I  found  the  fugitives,  who  had  fled  «o  precipitately  that 
they  had  not  even  thought  of  closing  the  doors  behind  them. 
In  this  last  refuge — madame's  boudoir,  all  white  and  gold — I 
found  them  crouching  among  gilt-backed  chairs  and  flowered 
cushions.  They  had  brought  only  one  candle  with  them  ;  and 
the  silks  and  gewgaws  and  knick-knacks  on  which  its  light 
shone  dimly  gave  a  peculiar  horror  to  their  white  faces  and 
glaring  eyes,  as,  almost  mad  with  terror,  they  huddled  in  the 
farthest  corner  and  stared  at  me. 

They  were  such  cowards  that  they  put  mademoiselle  foremost ; 
or  it  was  she  who  stood  out  to  meet  me.  She  knew  me  before 
they  did,  therefore,  and  quieted  them.  When  I  could  hear  mv 
own  voice  I  asked  where  Gargouf  was. 

They  had  not  discovered  that  he  was  not  with  them,  and  they 
cried  out,  saying  that  he  had  come  that  way. 

"  You  followed  him  ?" 

••  Yes,  monsieur." 


GARGOUF  127 

This  explained  their  flight,  but  not  the  steward's  absence. 
What  matter  where  he  had  gone,  however,  since  his  help  could 
avail  little.  I  looked  round — looked  round  in  despair;  the  very 
simpering  Cupids  on  the  walls  seemed  to  mock  our  danger.  I 
had  the  gun ;  I  could  fire  one  shot ;  I  had  one  life  in  my  hands. 
But  to  what  end  ?  In  a  moment,  at  any  moment,  within  a 
minute  or  two  at  most,  the  doors  would  be  forced,  and  the 
horde  of  mad  brutes  would  pour  in  upon  us,  and — 

"  Ah,  monsieur,  the  closet  staircase !  He  has  gone  by  the 
closet  staircase !" 

It  was  the  boy  who  spoke.  He  alone  of  them  had  his  wits 
about  him. 

"Where  is  it?"  I  said. 

The  lad  sprang  forward  to  show  me,  but  mademoiselle  was 
before  him  with  the  candle.  She  flew  back  into  the  passage — a 
passage  of  four  or  five  feet  only — between  that  room  and  the 
second  of  the  suite  ;  in  the  wall  of  this  she  flung  open  a  door, 
apparently  of  a  closet.  I  looked  in,  and  saw  the  beginning  of  a 
staircase.  My  heart  leaped  at  the  sight. 

"  To  the  floor  above  ?"  I  said. 

"  No,  monsieur,  to  the  roof  !" 

"  Up,  up,  then  !"  I  cried,  in  a  frenzy  of  impatience.  "  It  will 
give  us  time  !  Quick  !  They  are  coming." 

For  I  heard  the  door  at  the  end  of  the  suite,  the  door  I  had 
locked,  creak  and  yield.  They  were  forcing  it ;  at  any  moment 
it  might  give.  Where  I  stood  waiting  to  bring  up  the  rear  their 
hoarse  cries  and  curses  came  to  my  ears.  But  the  good  door 
held ;  it  held  long  enough,  at  any  rate.  Before  it  gave  way  we 
were  on  the  stairs,  and  I  had  shut  the  door  of  the  closet  behind 
me.  Then,  holding  to  the  skirts  of  the  woman  before  me,  I 
groped  my  way  up  quickly — up  and  up,  through  darkness,  with 
a  clos,e  smell  of  bats  in  my  nostrils ;  and  almost  before  I  could 
believe  it  I  stood  with  the  panting,  trembling  group  on  the 
roof.  The  glare  of  the  burning  out-houses  below  shone  on  a 
great  stack  of  chimneys  beside  us,  and  reddened  the  sky  above, 
and  burnished  the  leaves  of  the  chestnut-trees  that  rose  on  a 
level  with  our  eyes.  But  all  the  lower  part  of  the  steep  roofs 
round  us,  and  the  lead  gutters  that  ran  between  them,  lay  in 


128  THE    RED    COCKADE 

darkness  the  denser  for  the  contrast.  The  flames  crackled  be- 
low, and  a  thick  reek  of  smoke  swept  up  past  the  coping ;  but 
the  noise  alike  of  fire  and  riot  was  deadened  here.  The  night 
wind  cooled  our  brows,  and  I  had  a  minute  in  which  to  think, 
to  breathe,  to  look  round. 

"  Is  there  any  other  way  to  the  roof  ?"  I  asked,  anxiously. 

"  One  other,  monsieur." 

'•  Where  ?  Or  do  you  stay  here  and  guard  this  door,"  I  said, 
pressing  my  gun  on  the  man  who  had  answered.  "  And  let 
the  boy  come  and  show  me.  Mademoiselle,  stay  there,  if  you 
please." 

The  boy  ran  before  me  to  the  farther  end  of  the  roof,  and  in 
a  lead  walk  between  two  slopes  showed  me  a  large  trap-door. 
It  had  no  fastening  on  the  outside,  and  for  a  moment  I  stood 
nonplussed ;  then  I  saw,  a  few  feet  away,  a  neat  pile  of  bricks, 
left  there,  I  learned  afterwards,  in  the  course  of  some  repairs.  I 
began  to  remove  them  as  fast  as  I  could  to  the  trap-door,  and 
the  boy  saw  and  followed  my  example ;  in  two  minutes  we  had 
stacked  a  hundred  and  more  on  the  door.  Telling  him  to  add 
another  hundred  to  the  number,  I  left  him  at  the  task  and  flew 
back  to  the  women. 

They  might  burn  the  house  under  us;  that  always,  and  for 
certain,  and  it  meant  a  dreadful  death.  Yet  I  breathed  more 
freely  here.  In  the  white-and-gold  room  below,  among  madame's 
mirrors  and  Cupids  and  silken  cushions  and  painted  Venuscs, 
my  heart  had  failed  me.  The  place  with  its  heavy  perfumes 
had  stifled  me.  I  had  pictured  the  brutish  peasants  bursting 
in  on  us  there — on  the  screaming  women,  crouching  vainly  be- 
hind chairs  and  couches;  and  the  horror  of  the  thought  over- 
came me.  Here,  in  the  open,  under  the  sky,  we  could  at  least 
die  fighting.  The  depth  yawned  beyond  the  coping  ;  the  weak- 
est had  here  no  more  to  fear  than  death.  Besides,  we  had  a 
respite,  for  the  house  was  large,  and  the  fire  could  not  lick  it  up 
in  a  moment. 

And  help  might  come.  I  shaded  my  eyes  from  the  light  be- 
low, and  looked  into  the  darkness  in  the  direction  of  the  vil- 
lage and  the  Cahors  road.  In  an  hour  at  furthest  help  might 
come.  The  glare  in  the  sky  must  be  visible  for  miles  ;  it  would 


GARGODF  129 

spur  on  the  avengers.  Father  Benoit,  too,  if  he  could  get  help 
— he  might  be  here  at  any  time.  We  were  not  without  hope. 

Suddenly,  while  we  stood  together,  the  women  sobbing  and 
whimpering,  the  old  man-servant  spoke. 

"  Where  is  M.  Gargouf  ?"  he  muttered,  under  his  breath. 

"  Ah  !"  I  exclaimed  ;  "  I  had  forgotten  him." 

"He  came  up,"  the  man  continued,  peering  about  him. 
"  This  door  was  open,  M.  le  Vicomte,  when  we  came  to  it." 

"Ah!     Then  where  is  he?" 

I  looked  round,  too.  All  the  roof,  I  have  said,  was  dark,  and 
not  all  of  it  was  on  the  same  level ;  and  here  and  there  chim- 
neys broke  the  view.  In  the  obscurity  the  steward  might  be 
lurking  close  to  us  without  our  knowledge,  or  he  might  have 
thrown  himself  down  in  despair.  While  I  looked  the  boy 
whom  I  had  left  by  the  bricks  came  flying  to  us. 

"There  is  some  one  there !"  he  said.  And  he  clung  to  the 
old  man  in  terror. 

"  It  must  be  Gargouf  !"  I  answered.  "  Wait  here  !"  And 
disregarding  the  women's  prayers  that  I  would  stay  with  them, 
I  went  quickly  along  the  leads  to  the  other  trap-door,  and  peered 
about  me  through  the  gloom.  For  a  moment  I  could  see  no 
one,  though  the  light  shining  on  the  trees  made  it  easy  to  dis- 
cern figures  standing  nearer  the  coping.  Presently,  however,  I 
caught  the  sound  of  some  one  moving — some  one  who  was  far- 
ther away  still,  at  the  very  edge  of  the  roof.  I  went  on  cau- 
tiously, expecting  I  do  not  know  what;  and  close  to  a  stack  of 
chimneys  I  found  Gargouf. 

He  was  crouching  on  the  coping  in  the  darkest  part,  where 
the  end  wall  of  the  east  wing  overlooked  the  garden  by  which 
I  had  entered.  This  end  wall  had  no  windows,  and  the  greater 
part  of  the  garden  below  it  lay  in  darkness,  the  angle  of  the 
house  standing  between  it  and  the  burning  buildings.  I  sup- 
posed that  the  steward  had  sneaked  hither,  therefore,  to  hide, 
'and  set  it  down  to  the  darkness  that  he  did  not  know  me  ;  but 
as  I  approached  he  rose  on  his  knees  on  the  ledge,  and  turned 
on  me,  snarling  like  a  dog. 

"  Stand  back !"  he  said,  in  a  voice  that  was  scarcely  human. 
"Stand  back,  or  I  will—" 


130  THE    RED    COCKADE 

"Steady,  man,"  I  answered,  quietly,  beginning  to  think  that 
fear  had  unhinged  him.  "It  is  I,  M.  de  Saux." 

••  Stand  back!"  was  his  only  answer;  and  though  he  cowered 
so  low  that  I  could  not  get  his  figure  against  the  shining  trees, 
I  sa\y  a  pistol-barrel  gleam  as  he  levelled  it.  "  Stand  bark  ! 
Give  me  a  minute!  a  minute  only" — and  his  voice  quavered — 
"and  I  will  cheat  the  devils  yet!  Come  nearer,  or  give  the 
alarm,  and  I  will  not  die  alone !  I  will  not  die  alone !  Stand 
back !" 

"  Are  you  mad  ?"  I  said. 

"  Back,  or  I  shoot !"  he  growled.     "  I  will  not  die  alone." 

He  was  kneeling  on  the  very  edge,  with  his  left  hand  against 
the  chimney.  To  rush  upon  him  in  that  posture  was  to  court 
death  ;  and  I  had  nothing  to  gain  by  it.  I  stepped  back  a  pace. 
As  I  did  so — at  the  moment  I  did  so — he  slid  over  the  edge  and 
was  gone ! 

I  drew  a  deep  breath  and  listened,  flinching  and  drawing  back 
involuntarily.  But  I  heard  no  sound  of  a  fall ;  and  in  a  mo- 
ment, with  a  new  idea  in  my  mind,  I  stepped  forward  to  the 
edge  and  looked  over. 

The  steward  hung  in  mid-air  a  dozen  feet  below  me.  He 
was  descending — descending  foot  by  foot,  slowly  and  by  jerks  ; 
a  dim  figure,  growing  dimmer.  Instinctively  I  felt  about  me, 
and  in  a  second  laid  my  hand  on  the  rope  by  which  he  hung. 
It  was  secured  round  the  chimney.  Then  I  understood.  lie 
bad  conceived  this  way  of  escape,  perhaps  had  stored  the  rope 
for  it  beforehand,  and,  like  the  villain  he  was,  had  kept  the 
thought  to  himself,  that  his  chanee  might  be  the  better,  and 
that  he  might  not  have  to  give  the  first  place  to  mademoiselle 
and  the  women.  In  the  first  heat  of  the  discovery  I  almost 
found  it  in  my  heart  to  cut  the  rope  and  let  him  fall ;  then  I 
remembered  that  if  he  escaped  the  way  would  lie  open  for  oth- 
er- ;  and  then,  even  as  I  thought  this,  into  the  garden  below  me 
there  shone  a  sudden  flare  of  light,  and  a  stream  of  a  dozen 
p. Mired  round  the  corner  and  made  for  the  door  by 
whieh  I  ha<l  entered  the  house. 

I  held  inv  breath.  The  steward,  hanging  below  me.  and  bv 
this  time  half -way  to  the  ground,  stopped,  and  moved  not  a 


"  HUNG   THERE   HELPLESS  BETWEEN   EARTH   AND   HEAVEN  " 


GARGOUF  133 

limb.  But  he  still  swung  a  little  this  way  and  that,  and  in  the 
strong  light  of  the  torches  which  the  new-comers  carried  I 
could  see  every  knot  in  the  rope,  and  even  the  trailing  end, 
which,  as  I  looked,  moved  on  the  ground  with  his  motion. 

The  wretches  making  for  the  door  had  to  pass  within  a 
pace  of  the  rope,  of  that  trailing  end ;  yet  it  was  possible  that, 
blinded  by  the  lights  they  carried,  and  their  own  haste  and  ex- 
citement, they  might  not  see  it.  I  held  my  breath  as  the  lead- 
er came  abreast  of  it;  I  fancied  that  he  must  see  it.  But  he 
passed,  and  disappeared  in  the  doorway.  Three  others  passed 
the  rope  together.  A  fifth,  then  three  more,  two  more;  I  began 
to  breathe  more  freely.  Only  one  remained — a  woman,  the  same 
whose  imprecations  had  greeted  me  on  my  appearance  at  the 
window.  It  was  not  likely  that  she  would  see  it.  She  was 
running  to  overtake  the  others ;  she  carried  a  flare  in  her  right 
hand,  so  that  the  blaze  came  between  her  and  the  rope.  And 
she  was  waving  the  light  in  a  mad  woman's  frenzy  as  she 
danced  along,  hounding  on  the  men  to  the  sack. 

But  as  if  the  presence  of  the  man  who  had  wronged  her 
had  over  her  some  subtle  influence,  as  if  some  sense,  unowned 
by  others,  warned  her  of  his  presence  even  in  the  midst  of 
that  babel  and  tumult,  she  stopped  short  under  him,  with  her 
foot  almost  on  the  threshold.  I  saw  her  head  turn  slowly.  She 
raised  her  eyes,  holding  the  torch  aside.  She  saw  him ! 

With  a  scream  of  joy  she  sprang  to  the  foot  of  the  rope,  and 
began  to  haul  at  it,  as  if  in  that  way  she  might  get  to  him  soon- 
er, while  she  filled  the  air  with  her  shrieks  and  laughter.  The 
men  who  had  gone  into  the  house  heard  her  and  came  out 
again,  and  after  them  others.  I  quailed  where  I  knelt  on  the 
parapet  as  I  looked  down  and  met  the  wolfish  glare  of  their 
upturned  eyes.  What,  then,  must  have  been  the  thoughts  of  the 
wretched  man  taken  in  his  selfishness — hanging  there  helpless 
between  earth  and  heaven  ?  God  knows. 

He  began  to  climb  upwards  to  return,  and  actually  ascended 
hand  over  hand  a  dozen  feet.  But  he  had  been  supporting 
himself  for  some  minutes,  and  at  that  point  his  strength  failed 
him.  Human  muscles  could  do  no  more.  He  tried  to  haul 
himself  up  to  the  next  knot,  but  sank  back  with  a  groan.  Then 


134  THE    RED    COCKADE 

he  looked  at  me.  "  Pull  me  up !"  he  gasped,  in  a  voice  just 
audible.  "  For  God's  sake — for  God's  sake,  pull  me  up  !" 

But  the  wretches  below  had  the  end  of  the  rope,  and  it  was 
impossible  to  raise  him  even  had  I  possessed  the  strength  to  do 
it.  I  told  him  so,  and  bade  him  climb — climb  up  for  his  life. 
In  a  moment  it  would  be  too  late. 

He  understood.  He  raised  himself  with  a  jerk  to  the  next 
knot,  and  hung  there.  Another  desperate  effort  and  he  gained 
the  next,  though  I  could  almost  hear  his  muscles  crack,  and  his 
breath  came  in  gasps.  Three  more  knots — they  were  about  a 
foot  apart — and  he  would  reach  the  coping. 

But  as  he  turned  up  his  face  to  me  I  read  despair  in  his 
eyes.  His  strength  was  gone ;  and  while  he  hung  there  the 
men  began,  witli  shouts  of  laughter,  to  shake  the  rope  this  way 
and  that.  He  lost  his  grip,  and  with  a  groan  slid  down  three 
or  four  feet,  and  again  got  hold  and  hung  there — silent. 

By  this  time  the  group  below  had  grown  into  a  crowd — a 
crowd  of  maddened  beings,  raving  and  howling,  and  leaping  up 
at  him  as  dogs  leap  at  food ;  and  the  horror  of  the  sight,  though 
the  doomed  man's  features  were  now  in  shadow  and  I  could 
not  read  them,  overcame  me.  I  rose  to  draw  back,  shudder- 
ing, listening  for  his  fall.  Instead,  before  I  had  quite  retreated, 
a  hot  flash  blinded  me  and  almost  scorched  my  face,  and,  as 
the  sharp  report  of  a  pistol  rang  out,  the  steward's  body  plunged 
headlong  down,  leaving  a  little  cloud  of  smoke  where  I  stood. 

He  had  balked  his  enemies. 


CHAPTER  IX 
THE     TRICOLOR 

IT  was  known  afterwards  that  they  fell  upon  the  body  and 
tore  it,  like  the  dogs  they  were ;  but  I  had  seen  enough.  I 
reeled  back,  and  for  a  few  moments  leaned  against  the  chim- 
ney, trembling  like  a  woman,  sick  and  faint.  The  horrid  drama 
had  had  only  one  spectator — myself ;  and  the  strange  solitude 
from  which  I  had  viewed  it,  kneeling  at  the  edge  of  the  roof  of 
the  chateau,  with  the  night  wind  on  my  brow  and  the  tumult 
far  below  me,  had  shaken  me  to  the  bottom  of  my  soul.  Had 
the  ruffians  come  upon  me  then,  I  could  not  have  lifted  a  finger ; 
but,  fortunately,  though  the  awakening  came  quickly,  it  came 
by  another  hand.  I  heard  the  bustle  of  feet  behind  me,  and, 
turning,  found  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Alais  at  my  shoulder,  her 
small  face  gray  in  the  gloom. 

"  Monsieur,"  she  said,  "  will  you  come  ?" 

I  sprang  up,  ashamed  and  conscience-stricken.  I  had  forgot- 
ten her — all — in  the  tragedy.  "  What  is  it  ?"  I  said. 

"  The  house  is  burning." 

She  said  it  so  calmly,  in  such  a  voice,  that  I  could  not  be- 
lieve her  or  that  I  understood,  though  it  was  the  thing  I  had 
told  myself  must  happen.  "  What,  mademoiselle  ?  This  house?" 
I  said,  stupidly. 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  as  quietly  as  before.  "The  smoke  is 
rising  through  the  closet  staircase.  I  think  that  they  have  set 
the  east  wing  on  fire." 

I  hastened  back  with  her,  but  before  I  reached  the  little  door 
by  which  we  had  ascended  I  saw  that  it  was  true.  A  faint, 
whitish  eddy  of  smoke,  scarcely  visible  in  the  dusk,  was  rising 
through  the  crack  between  door  and  lintel.  When  we  came  up 
the  women  were  still  round  it,  watching  it ;  but  while  I  looked, 


136  TIIK     RED    COCKADE 

dazed  and  wondering  what  we  were  to  do,  the  group  melted 
away,  and  mademoiselle  and  1  were  left  alone  beside  tlie  stream 
of  smoke  that  grew  each  moment  thicker  and  darker. 

A  few  moments  before,  immediately  after  my  escape  from 
the  rooms  below,  I  had  thought  that  I  could  face  this  peril  ; 
anything,  everything,  had  then  seemed  better  than  to  be  caught 
with  the  women,  in  the  confinement  of  those  luxurious  room-, 
perfumed  with  poudre  de  rose  and  heavy  with  jasmine — to  be 
caught  there  by  the  brutes  who  were  pursuing  us.  Now  the 
danger  that  showed  itself  most  pressing  seemed  the  worst. 
"  \\"e  must  take  off  the  bricks!"  I  cried.  "Quick,  and  open 
that  door !  There  is  nothing  else  for  it.  Come,  mademoiselle, 
if  you  please  !" 

"  They  are  doing  it,"  she  answered. 

Then  I  saw  whither  the  women  and  the  servants  had  gone. 
They  were  already  beside  the  other  door,  the  trap-door,  labor- 
ing frantieally  to  remove  the  bricks  we  had  piled  on  it.  In  a 
moment  I  caught  the  infection  of  their  haste. 

" Come,  mademoiselle  !  come!"  I  cried,  advancing  involun- 
tarily a  step  towards  the  group.  "  Very  likely  the  rogues  be- 
low will  be  plundering  now,  and  we  may  pass  safely.  At  any 
rate,  there  is  nothing  else  for  it." 

I  was  still  flurried  and  shaken  —  I  say  it  with  shame  —  by 
Gargouf's  fate ;  and  when  she  did  not  answer  at  once,  I  looked 
round  impatiently.  To  my  astonishment  she  was  gone.  In  the 
darkness  it  was  not  easy  to  see  any  one  at  a  distance  of  a  dozen 
feet,  and  the  reek  of  the  smoke  was  spreading.  Still,  she  had 
been  at  my  elbow  a  moment  before ;  she  could  not  be  far  off. 
I  took  a  step  this  way  and  that,  and  looked  again  anxiously ; 
and  then  I  found  her.  She  was  kneeling  against  a  chimney, 
her  face  buried  in  her  hands.  Her  hair  covered  her  shoulders 
and  partly  hid  her  white  robe. 

I  thought  the  time  ill  chosen,  and  I  touched  her  angrily. 
"  Mademoiselle  !"  I  said.  "There  is  not  a  moment  to  be  lost! 
Come  !  they  have  opened  the  door !" 

looked  up  at  me,  and  the  still  pallor  of  her  face  sobered 
me.  "  I  am  not  going,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice.  "Farewell, 
monsieur !" 


THE    TRICOLOR  137 

"  You  are  not  coming  ?"  I  cried. 

"  No,  monsieur ;  save  yourself,"  she  answered,  firmly  and 
quietly.  And  she  looked  up  at  me  with  her  hands  still  clasped 
before  her,  as  if  she  were  fain  to  return  to  her  prayers,  and 
waited  only  for  me  to  go. 

I  gasped.  "  But,  mademoiselle  !"  I  cried,  staring  at  the  white- 
robed  figure,  that  in  the  gloom — a  gloom  riven  now  and  again 
by  hot  flashes,  as  some  burning  spark  soared  upward — seemed 
scarcely  earthly — "  but,  mademoiselle,  you  do  not  understand. 
This  is  no  child's  play.  To  stay  here  is  death !  death  !  The 
house  is  burning  under  us.  Presently  the  roof,  on  which  we 
stand,  will  fall  in,  and  then — " 

"  Better  that,"  she  answered,  raising  her  head  with  Heaven 
knows  what  of  womanly  dignity,  caught  in  this  supreme  mo- 
ment by  her,  a  child — "  better  that  than  that  I  should  fall  into 
their  hands.  I  am  a  St.  Alais,  and  I  can  die,"  she  continued, 
firmly.  "But  I  must  not  fall  into  their  hands.  Do  you,  mon- 
sieur, save  yourself.  Go  now,  and  I  will  pray  for  you." 

"  And  I  for  you,"  mademoiselle,"  I  answered,  with  a  full 
heart.  "  If  you  stay,  I  stay." 

She  looked  at  me  a  moment,  her  face  troubled.  Then  she 
rose  slowly  to  her  feet.  The  servants  had  disappeared,  the  trap- 
door lay  open  ;  no  one  had  yet  come  up.  We  had  the  roof  to 
ourselves.  I  saw  her  shudder  as  she  looked  round,  and  in  a 
second  I  had  her  in  my  arms — she  was  no  heavier  than  a  child 
— and  was  half-way  across  the  roof.  She  uttered  a  faint  cry  of 
remonstrance,  of  reproach,  and  for  an  instant  struggled  with 
me.  But  I  only  held  her  the  tighter,  and  ran  on.  From  the 
trap-door  a  ladder  led  downward;  somehow,  still  holding  her 
with  one  hand,  I  stumbled  down  it,  until  I  reached  the  foot,  and 
found  myself  in  a  passage  which  was  all  dark.  One  way,  how- 
ever, a  light  shone  at  the  end  of  it. 

I  carried  her  towards  this,  her  hair  lying  across  my  lips,  her 
face  against  my  breast.  She  no  longer  struggled,  and  in  a  mo- 
ment I  came  to  the  head  of  a  staircase.  It  seemed  to  be  a 
servants'  staircase,  for  it  was  bare,  and  mean,  and  narrow,  with 
whitewashed  walls  that  were  not  too  clean.  There  were  no 
signs  of  fire  here  ;  even  the  smoke  had  not  yet  reached  this 


138  THK     KK1)    COCKADK 

part;  but  half-way  down  the  flight  a  candle,  overturned,  but 
still  burning,  lay  on  a  step,  as  if  some  one  had  that  moment 
dropped  it.  And  from  all  the  lower  part  of  the  house  came 
up  a  great  noise  of  riot  and  revelry,  coarse  shrieks  and  shouts 
;iiid  laughter.  I  paused  to  listen. 

Mademoiselle  lifted  herself  a  little  in  my  arms.  "  Put  me 
down,  monsieur,"  she  whispered. 

"  You  will  come  ?" 

"  I  will  do  what  you  tell  me." 

I  set  her  down  in  the  angle  of  the  passage,  at  the  head  of  the 
stairs,  and  in  a  whisper  I  asked  her  what  was  beyond  the  door 
which  I  could  see  at  the  foot  of  the  flight. 

"  The  kitchen,"  she  answered. 

"If  I  had  any  cloak  to  cover  you,"  I  said,  "  I  think  that  we 
could  pass.  They  are  not  searching  for  us.  They  are  robbing 
and  drinking." 

"  Will  you  get  the  candle?"  she  whispered,  trembling.  "In 
one  of  these  rooms  we  may  find  something." 

I  went  softly  down  the  bare  stairs,  and,  picking  it  up,  returned 
with  it  in  my  hand.  As  I  came  back  to  her  our  eyes  met,  and 
a  slow  blush,  gradually  deepening,  crept  over  her  face,  as  dawn 
creeps  over  a  gray  sky.  Having  come,  it  stayed  ;  her  eyes  fell, 
and  she  turned  a  little  away  from  me,  confused  and  frightened. 
\\e  were  alone  ;  and  for  the  first  time  that  night,  I  think,  she  re- 
membered her  loosened  hair  and  the  disorder  of  her  dress — that 
she  was  a  woman  and  I  a  man. 

It  was  a  strange  time  to  think  of  such  things,  when  at  any 
instant  the  door  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  before  us  might  open, 
and  a  dozen  ruffians  stream  up,  bent  on  plunder,  and  worse. 
But  the  look  and  the  movement  warmed  my  heart,  and  set  my 
blood  running  as  it  had  never  run  before.  I  felt  my  courage 
return  in  a  flood,  and  with  it  twice  my  strength.  I  felt  capable 
of  holding  the  staircase  against  a  hundred,  a  thousand,  as  long 
as  she  stood  at  the  top.  Above  all,  I  wondered  how  I  could 
have  borne  her  in  my  arms  a  minute  before,  how  I  could  have 
held  her  head  against  my  breast,  and  felt  her  hair  touch  my  lips, 
and  been  insensible !  Never  again  should  I  carry  her  so  with 
an  even  pulse.  The  knowledge  of  that  came  to  me  as  I  stood 


THE    TRICOLOR  139 

beside  her  at  the  head  of  the  bare  stairs,  affecting  to  listen  to 
the  noises  below,  that  she  might  have  time  to  recover  herself. 

A  moment  and  I  began  to  listen  seriously  ;  for  the  uproar  in 
the  kitchen,  through  which  we  must  pass  to  escape,  was  grow- 
ing louder;  and  at  the  same  time  that  I  noticed  this  a  smell  of 
burning  wood,  with  a  whiff  of  smoke,  reached  my  nostrils,  and 
warned  me  that  the  fire  was  extending  to  the  wing  in  which  we 
stood.  Behind  us,  as  we  stood  looking  down  the  stairs,  was  a 
door ;  along  the  passage  to  the  left  by  which  we  had  come  were 
other  doors.  I  thrust  the  candle  into  mademoiselle's  hands,  and 
begged  her  to  go  and  look  in  the  rooms. 

"  There  may  be  a  cloak  or  something !"  I  said,  eagerly.  "  We 
must  not  linger.  If  you  will  look,  I  will — " 

No  more  |  for  as  the  last  word  trembled  on  my  lips  tfle  door 
at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  flew  open,  and  a  man  blundered  through 
it  and  began  to  ascend  towards  us  two  steps  at  a  time.  He 
carried  a  candle  before  him,  and  a  large  bar  in  his  right  hand ; 
and  a  savage  roar  of  voices  came  with  him  through  the  door- 
way. 

He  appeared  so  suddenly  that  we  had  no  time  to  move.  I 
had  a  side  glimpse  of  mademoiselle  standing  spellbound  with 
horror,  the  light  drooping  in  her  hand.  Then  I  snatched  the 
candle  from  her  and  quenched  it,  and,  plucking  it  from  the 
iron  candlestick,  stood  waiting,  with  the  latter  in  my  hand — 
waiting,  stooping  forward,  for  the  man.  I  had  left  my  sword  in 
the  farther  wing,  and  had  no  other  weapon ;  but  the  stairs  were 
narrow,  the  sloping  ceiling  low,  and  the  candlestick  might  do. 
If  his  comrades  did  not  follow  him  it  might  do. 

He  came  up  rapidly  two-thirds  of  the  way,  holding  the  light 
high  in  front  of  him.  Only  four  or  five  steps  divided  him  from 
us.  Then  on  a  sudden  he  stumbled,  swore,  and  fell  heavily 
forward.  The  light  in  his  hand  went  out,  and  we  were  in 
darkness. 

Instinctively  I  gripped  mademoiselle's  hand  in  my  left  hand 
to  stay  the  scream  that  I  knew  was  on  her  lips ;  then  we  stood 
like  two  statues,  scarcely  daring  to  breathe.  The  man,  so  near 
us,  and  yet  unconscious  of  our  presence,  got  up  swearing ;  and 
after  a  terrible  moment  of  suspense,  during  which  I  think  he 


1   id  TIIK     KK1)     COCKAIIK 

fumbled  for  the  candle,  he  began  to  clatter  down  the  stairs 
airain.  They  had  closed  the  door  at  the  bottom,  and  he  could 
not  for  a  moment  find  the  string  of  the  latch.  But  at  last  he 
found  it,  and  opened  the  door.  Then  I  stepped  back,  and  under 
cover  of  the  babel  that  instantly  poured  up  the  staircase  1  drew 
mademoiselle  into  the  room  behind  us,  and,  closing  the  door 
which  faced  the  stairs,  stood  listening. 

I  fancied  that  I  could  hear  her  heart  beating.  I  could  certainly 
hear  my  own.  In  this  room  we  seemed  for  the  moment  safe. 
But  how  were  we,  without  a  light,  to  find  anything  to  disguise 
her  ?  How  were  we  to  pass  through  the  kitchen  ?  And  in  a 
moment  I  began  to  regret  that  I  had  left  the  stairs.  We  were 
in  perfect  darkness  here,  and  could  see  nothing  in  the  room, 
which  Bad  a  close,  unused  smell,  as  of  mice ;  but  even  as  I  no- 
ticed this  the  fumes  of  burning  wood,  which  had  doubtless 
entered  with  us,  grew  stronger,  and  overcame  the  other  smell. 
The  rushing,  wind-like  sound  of  the  fire,  as  it  caught  hold  of 
the  wing,  began  to  be  audible,  and  the  distant  crackling  of 
flames.  My  heart  sank. 

u  Mademoiselle,"  I  said,  softly.     I  still  held  her  hand. 

"Yes,  monsieur,"  she  murmured,  faintly.  And  she  seemed 
to  lean  against  me. 

"  Are  there  no  windows  in  this  room  ?" 

"  I  think  that  they  are  shuttered,"  she  murmured. 

With  a  new  thought  in  my  mind — that  the  way  of  the  kiteheu 
being  hopeless,  we  might  escape  by  the  windows— I  moved  a 
pace  to  look  for  them.  I  would  have  loosed  her  hand  to  do 
this,  that  my  own  might  be  free  to  grope  before  me ;  but  to  my 
surprise  she  clung  to  me,  and  would  not  let  me  go.  Then  in 
the  darkness  I  heard  her  sigh,  as  if  she  were  about  to  swoon  ; 
and  she  fell  against  me. 

"  Courage,  mademoiselle,  courage  !"  I  said,  terrified  by  the 
mere  thought. 

"  <  »h,  I  am  frightened!"  she  moaned  in  my  car.  "I  am 
frightened  !  Save  me,  monsieur,  save  me  !" 

She  had  been  so  brave  before,  that  I  wondered,  not  knowing 
that  the  bravest  woman's  courage  is  of  this  quality.  But  I  had 
short  time  for  wonder.  Her  weight  hung  each  instant  more 


'HE   CAMK    UP   RAPIDLY,   HOLDING   THE   LIGHT    HIGH   IN    FRONT    OK   HIM 


THE    TRICOLOR  143 

dead  in  my  arms,  and,  my  heart  beating  wildly  as  I  held  her,  I 
looked  round  for  help,  for  a  thought,  for  an  idea.  But  all  was 
dark.  I  could  not  remember  even  where  the  door  stood  by 
which  we  had  entered.  I  peered  in  vain  for  the  slightest  glim- 
mer of  light  that  might  betray  the  windows.  I  was  alone  with 
her,  and  helpless ;  our  way  of  retreat  cut  off,  the  flames  ap- 
proaching. I  felt  her  head  fall  back,  and  knew  that  she  had 
swooned ;  and  in  the  dark  I  could  do  no  more  than  support 
her,  and  listen  and  listen  for  the  returning  steps  of  the  man  or 
what  else  would  happen  next. 

For  a  long  time,  a  long  time  it  seemed  to  me,  nothing  hap- 
pened. Then  a  sudden  burst  of  sound  told  me  that  the  door  at 
the  foot  of  the  stairs  had  been  opened  again,  and  on  that  fol- 
lowed a  clatter  of  wooden  shoes  on  the  bare  stairs.  I  could 
judge  now  where  the  door  of  the  room  was,  and  I  quickly  but 
tenderly  laid  mademoiselle  on  the  floor  a  little  behind  it,  and 
waited  myself  on  the  threshold.  I  still  had  my  candlestick,  and 
I  was  desperate. 

I  heard  them  pass,  my  heart  beating ;  and  then  I  heard  them 
pause,  and  I  clutched  my  weapon  ;  and  then  a  voice  I  knew 
gave  an  order,  and  with  a  cry  of  joy  I  dragged  open  the  door 
of  the  room  and  stood  before  them — stood  before  them,  as  they 
told  me  afterwards,  with  the  face  of  a  ghost,  or  a  man  risen 
from  the  dead.  There  were  four  of  them,  and  the  nearest  to  us 
was  Father  Benoit. 

The  good  priest  fell  on  my  neck  and  kissed  me.  •"  You  are 
not  hurt  ?"  he  cried. 

"  No,"  I  said,  dully.     "  You  have  come,  then  ?" 

"  Yes,"  he  said.  "  In  time  to  save  you,  God  be  praised ! 
God  be  praised !  And  mademoiselle  ?  Mademoiselle  de  St. 
Alais  ?"  he  added,  eagerly,  looking  at  me  as  if  he  thought  I 
was  not  quite  in  my  senses.  "  Have  you  news  of  her?" 

I  turned  without  a  word,  and  went  back  into  the  room.  He 
followed  with  a  light,  and  the  three  men,  of  whom  Buton  was 
one,  pressed  in  after  him.  They  were  rough  peasants,  but  the 
sight  made  them  give  back  and  uncover  themselves.  Mademoi- 
sejle  lay  where  I  had  left  her,  her  head  pillowed  on  a  dark  car- 
pet of  hair,  from  the  midst  of  which  her  child's  face,  composed 


144  TIIK    RED    COCKADE 

and  white,  as  in  death,  looked  up  with  solemn,  half-closed  eyes 
to  the  ceiling.  For  myself,  I  stared  down  at  her  almost  with- 
out emotion,  so  much  had  I  gone  through.  But  the  priest 
cried  out  aloud. 

"  Mon  Dieu  /"  he  said,  with  a  sob  in  his  voice,  "  have  they 
killed  her?" 

"  No,"  I  answered.  "  She  has  only  fainted.  If  there  is  a 
woman  here — " 

"  There  is  no  woman  here  that  I  dare  trust,"  he  answered  be- 
tween his  teeth.  And  he  bade  one  of  the  men  go  and  get  some 
water,  adding  a  few  words  which  I  did  not  hear. 

The  man  returned  almost  immediately,  and  Father  Benoit, 
bidding  him  and  his  fellows  stand  back  a  little,  moistened  her 
lips  with  water,  afterwards  dashing  some  in  her  face ;  doing  it 
with  an  air  of  haste  that  puzzled  me  until  I  noticed  that  the 
room  was  grown  thick  with  smoke,  and  on  going  myself  to  the 
door  saw  the  red  glow  of  fire  at  the  end  of  the  passage,  and 
heard  the  distant  crash  of  falling  stones  and  timbers.  Then  I 
thought  that  I  understood  the  men's  attitude,  and  I  suggested 
to  Father  Benoit  that  I  should  carry  her  out. 

"  She  will  never  recover  here,"  I  said,  with  a  sob  in  my 
throat.  "  She  will  be  suffocated  if  we  do  not  get  her  into  the 
air." 

A  thick  volume  of  smoke  swept  along  the  passage  as  I  spoke, 
and  gave  point  to  my  words. 

"  Yes,"  the  priest  said,  slowly,  "  I  think  so,  too,  my  son, 
but—" 

"  But  what  ?"  I  cried.     "  It  is  not  safe  to  stay  !" 

"  You  sent  to  Cahors  ?" 

"  Yes,"  I  answered.     "  Has  M.  de  St.  Alais  come  ?" 

"  No ;  and  you  sec,  M.  le  Vicomtc,  I  have  only  these  three 
men,"  he  explained.  "  Had  I  stayed  to  gather  more  I  mi^lit 
have  been  too  late.  And  with  these  only  I  do  not  know  what 
to  do.  Half  the  poor  wretches  who  have  done  this  mischief 
are  mad  with  drink.  Others  are  strangers,  and — " 

"  But  I  thought — I  thought  that  it  was  all  over,"  I  cried,  in 
astonishment.  . 

\ ••,"  he  answered,  gravely.     "They  let  us  pass  in  after  an 


THE    TRICOLOR  145 

altercation  ;  I  am  of  the  Committee,  and  so  is  Buton  there. 
But  when  they  see  you,  and  especially  Mademoiselle  de  St. 
Alais,  I  do  not  know  how  they  may  act,  my  friend." 

"  But,  mon  Dieu  /"  I  cried.     "  Surely  they  will  not  dare — " 

"  No,  monseigneur,  have  no  fear ;  they  shall  not  dare." 

The  words  came  out  of  the  smoke.  The  speaker  was  Buton. 
As  he  spoke  he  stepped  forward,  swinging  the  ponderous  bar 
he  carried,  his  huge,  hairy  arms  bare  to  the  elbow.  "  Yet  there 
is  one  thing  you  must  do,"  he  said. 

"  What  f"" 

"  You  must  put  on  the  tricolor.  They  will  not  dare  to  touch 
that." 

He  spoke  with  a  simple  pride,  which  at  the  moment  I  found 
unintelligible.  I  understand  it  better  now.  Nay,  on  the  mor- 
row it  was  no  riddle  to  me,  though  an  abiding  wonder. 

The  priest  sprang  at  the  idea.  "  Good,"  he  said.  "  Buton 
has  hit  it !  They  will  respect  that." 

And  before  I  could  speak  he  had  detached  the  large  rosette 
which  he  wore  on  his  soutane,  and  was  pinning  it  on  my  breast. 

"  Now  yours,  Buton,"  he  continued ;  and,  taking  the  smith's 
— it  was  not  too  clean — he  fixed  it  on  mademoiselle's  left  shoul- 
der. "  There,"  he  said,  eagerly,  when  it  was  done.  "  Now, 
M.  le  Vicomte,  take  her  up.  Quick,  or  we  shall  be  stifled. 
Buton  and  I  will  go  before  you,  and  our  friends  here  will  fol- 
low you." 

Mademoiselle  was  beginning  to  come  to  herself  with  sighs 
and  sobs  when  I  raised  her  in  my  arms ;  and  we  were  all 
coughing  with  the  smoke.  This  in  the  passage  outside  was 
choking ;  had  we  delayed  a  minute  longer  we  could  not  have 
passed  out  safely,  for  already  the  flames  were  beginning  to  lick 
the  door  of  the  next  room,  and  dart  out  angry  tongues  towards 
us.  As  it  was,  we  stumbled  down  the  stairs  in  some  fashion, 
one  helping  another ;  and,  checked  for  an  instant  by  the  closed 
door  at  the  bottom,  were  glad  to  fall,  when  it  was  opened,  pell- 
mell  into  the  kitchen,  where  we  stood  with  smarting  eyes  gasp- 
ing for  breath. 

It  was  the  grand  kitchen  of  the  chateau,  that  had  seen  many 
a  feast  prepared  and  many  a  quarry  brought  home  ;  but  for 


140  THE    RED    COCKADK 

mademoiselle's  sake  I  was  glad  that  her  face  was  against  my 
breast,  and  that  she  could  not  see  it  now.  A  great  fire,  fed 
high  with  fat  and  hams,  blazed  on  the  hearth,  and  before  it,  in- 
stead of  meat,  the  carcasses  of  three  dogs  hung  from  the  jack, 
and  tainted  the  air  with  the  smell  of  burning  flesh.  They  were 
M.  le  Marquis's  favorite  hounds,  killed  in  pure  wantonness.  Be- 
low them  the  floor,  strewn  with  broken  bottles,  ran  deep  in 
wasted  wine,  out  of  which  piles  of  shattered  furniture  and 
staved  casks  rose  like  islands.  All  that  the  rioters  had  not 
taken  they  had  spoiled  ;  even  now  in  one  corner  a  woman  was 
filling  her  apron  with  salt  from  a  huge  trampled  heap,  and  at 
the  battered  dressoir  three  or  four  men  were  plundering.  The 
main  body  of  the  peasants,  however,  had  retired  outside,  where 
they  could  be  heard  fiercely  cheering  on  the  flames,  shouting 
when  a  chimney  fell  or  a  window  burst,  and  flinging  into  the 
fire  every  living  thing  unlucky  enough  to  fall  into  their  hands. 

The  plunderers,  on  seeing  us,  sneaked  out  witli  grim  looks, 
like  wolves  driven  from  the  prey.  Doubtless  they  spread  the 
news ;  for  while  we  paused,  though  it  was  only  for  a  moment, 
in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  the  uproar  outside  ceased,  and  gave 
place  to  a  strange  silence,  in  the  midst  of  which  we  appeared 
at  the  door. 

The  glare  of  the  burning  house  threw  a  light  as  strong  as 
that  of  day  on  the  scene  before  us,  on  the  line  of  savagf.  ftvn- 
zied  faces  that  confronted  us,  and  the  great  pile  of  wreckage 
that  stood  about  and  bore  witness  to  their  fury.  But  for  a  mo- 
ment the  light  failed  to  show  us  to  them  ;  we  were  in  the  shadow 
of  the  wall,  and  it  was  not  until  we  had  advanced  some  paces 
that  the  ominous  silence  was  broken,  and  the  mob,  with  a  howl 
of  rage,  sprang  forward,  like  blood -hounds  slipped  from  the 
leash.  Low -browed  and  shock  -  headed,  half  naked  and  black 
with  smoke  and  blood,  they  seemed  more  like  leasts  than  men; 
and  like  beasts  they  came  on,  snapping  the  teeth  and  snarling; 
while  from  the  rear — for  the  foremost  were  past  speech — came 
screams  of  "  Mort  aux  tyrans !  Mort  aux  accapareurs  !"  that, 
mingling  with  the  tumult  of  the  fire,  were  enough  to  scare  the 
stoutest. 

Had  my  cscurt  blenched  for  an  instant  our  fate  was  sealed. 


"  '  RESPECT    THE    TRICOLOR  !'  " 


THE    TRICOLOR  149 

But  they  stood  firm,  and  before  their  stern  front  all  but  one 
man  quailed  and  fell  back — fell  back  snarling  and  crying  for 
our  blood.  That  one  came  on  and  aimed  a  blow  at  me  with  a 
knife.  On  the  instant  Buton  raised  his  iron  bar,  and  with  a 
stentorian  cry  of  "  Respect  the  Tricolor  !"  struck  him  to  the 
ground  and  strode  over  him. 

"  Respect  the  Tricolor !"  he  shouted  again,  with  the  voice  of 
a  bull ;  and  the  effect  of  the  words  was  magical.  The  crowd 
heard,  fell  back  and  fell  aside,  staring  stupidly  at  me  and  my 
burden. 

"  Respect  the  Tricolor !"  Father  Benoit  cried,  raising  his 
hand  aloft ;  and  he  made  the  sign  of  the  cross.  On  that  in  an 
instant  a  hundred  voices  took  it  up ;  and  almost  before  I  could 
apprehend  the  change  those  who  a  moment  earlier  had  been 
gaping  for  our  blood  were  thrusting  one  another  back,  and 
shouting,  as  with  one  voice,  "  Way,  way  for  the  Tricolor  !" 

There  was  something  unutterably  new,  strange,  formidable  in 
this  reverence ;  this  respect  paid  by  the  savages  to  a  word,  a 
ribbon,  an  idea.  It  made  an  impression  on  me  that  was  never 
quite  effaced.  But,  at  the  moment,  I  was  scarcely  conscious  of 
this.  I  heard  and  saw  things  dully.  Like  a  man  in  a  dream,  I 
walked  through  the  crowd,  and,  stumbling  under  my  burden, 
passed  down  the  lane  of  brutish  faces,  down  the  avenue,  down 
to  the  gate.  There  Father  Ben6it  would  have  taken  mademoi- 
selle from  me,  but  I  would  not  let  him. 

"  To  Saux  !  To  Saux  !"  I  said,  feverishly ;  and  then,  I  scarce- 
ly knew  how,  I  found  myself  on  a  horse,  holding  her  before  me. 
And  we  were  on  the  road  to  Saux,  lighted  on  our  way  by  the 
flames  of  the  burning  chateau. 


CHAPTER  X 
THE    MORNING    AFTER   THE    STORM 

FATHER  BESPIT  had  the  forethought,  when  we  reached  the 
cross-roads,  to  leave  a  man  there  to  await  the  party  from  Cahors, 
and  warn  them  of  mademoiselle's  safety;  and  we  had  not  ridden 
more  than  half  a  mile  before  the  clatter  of  hoofs  behind  us  an- 
nounced that  they  were  following.  I  was  beginning  to  recover 
from  the  stupor  into  which  the  excitement  of  the  night  had 
thrown  me,  and  I  reined  up,  to  deliver  over  my  charge,  should 
M.  de  St.  Alais  desire  to  take  her. 

But  he  was  not  of  the  party.  The  leader  was  Louis,  and  his 
company  consisted,  to  my  surprise,  of  no  iimn.'  than  six  or  seven 
servants,  old  M.  de  Gontaut,  one  of  the  IIarincourts,and  a  strange 
gentleman.  Their  horses  were  panting  and  smoking  with  the 
speed  at  which  they  had  come,  and  the  men's  eyes  glittered 
with  excitement.  No  one  seemed  to  think  it  strange  that  I  car- 
ried mademoiselle ;  but  all,  after  hurriedly  thanking  God  that 
she  was  safe,  hastened  to  ask  the  number  of  the  rioters. 

"Nearly  a  hundred,"  I  said,  "as  far  as  I  could  judge.  But 
where  is  M.  le  Marquis  ?" 

"  He  had  not  returned  when  the  alarm  came." 

"  You  are  a  small  party?" 

Louis  swore  with  vexation.  "  I  could  get  no  more,"  he  said. 
"  News  came  at  the  same  time  that  Marignac's  house  was  on  fin-, 
and  he  carried  off  a  dozen.  A  score  of  others  took  fright,  ami 
thought  it  might  be  the  same  with  them  ;  and  they  saddled  up 
in  haste,  and  went  to  see.  In  fact,"  he  continued,  bitterly,  "it 
seemed  to  be  every  one  for  himself.  Always  excepting  my  good 
friends  here." 

M.  de  Gontaut  began  to  chuckle,  but  choked  for  want  of  breath. 


THE    MORNING    AFTER    THE    STORM  151 

"  Beauty  in  distress  !"  he  gasped.  Poor  fellow,  he  could  scarcely 
sit  his  horse. 

"  But  you  will  come  on  to  Saux  ?"  I  said.  They  were  turning 
their  horses  in  a  cloud  of  steam  that  mistily  lit  up  the  night. 

"  No  !"  Louis  answered,  with  another  oath ;  and  I  did  not  won- 
der that  he  was  not  himself,  that  his  usual  good-nature  had  de- 
serted him.  "  It  is  now  or  never !  If  we  can  catch  them  at  this 
work—" 

I  did  not  hear  the  rest.  The  trampling  of  their  horses,  as 
they  drove  in  the  spurs  and  started  down  the  road,  drowned  the 
words.  In  a  moment  they  were  fifty  paces  away  ;  all  but  one, 
who,  detaching  himself  at  the  last  moment,  turned  his  horse's 
head  and  rode  up  to  me.  It  was  the  stranger,  the  only  one  of 
the  party  not  a  servant  whom  I  did  not  know. 

"  How  are  they  armed,  if  you  please  ?"  he  asked. 

"  They  have  at  least  one  gun,"  I  said,  looking  at  him  curious- 
ly, "and  by  this  time  probably  more.  The  mass  of  them  had 
pikes  and  pitchforks." 

"  And  a  leader  ?" 

"  Petit  Jean,  the  smith,  of  St.  Alais,  gave  orders." 

"  Thank  you,  M.  le  Vicomte,"  he  said,  and  saluted  me.  Then, 
touching  his  horse  with  the  spur,  he  rode  off  at  speed  after  the 
others. 

I  was  in  no  condition  to  help  them,  and  I  was  anxious  to  put 
mademoiselle,  who  Jay  in  my  arms  like  one  dead,  in  the  women's 
care.  The  moment  they  were  gone,  therefore,  we  pursued  our 
way,  Father  Benoit  and  I  silent  and  full  of  thought,  the  others 
chattering  to  one  another  without  pause  or  stay.  Mademoiselle's 
head  lay  on  my  right  shoulder.  I  could  feel  the  faint  beating 
of  her  heart;  and  in  that  slow,  dark  ride  had  time  to  think  of 
many  things:  of  her  courage  and  will  and  firmness — this  poor 
little  convent-bred  one,  who  a  fortnight  before  had  not  found  a 
word  to  throw  at  me ;  last,  but  not  least,  of  the  womanly  weak- 
ness, dear  to  my  man's  heart,  that  had  sapped  her  reserve  at  last, 
and  brought  her  arms  to  my  neck  and  her  cry  to  my  ear.  The 
faint  perfume  of  her  hair  was  in  my  nostrils ;  I  longed  to  kiss 
the  half-shrouded  head.  But  if  in  an  hour  I  had  learned  to  love 
her,  I  had  learned  to  honor  her  more ;  and  I  repressed  the  im- 


1  ."••_'  THE    REU    COCKADK 

pulse,  and  only  held  her  more  gently,  and  tried  to  think  of  other 
things  until  she  should  be  out  of  my  arms. 

If  I  did  not  find  that  so  easy,  it  was  not  for  want  of  food  for 
thought.  The  glow  of  the  fire  behind  us  reddened  all  tin-  sky 
at  our  backs;  the  murmur  of  the  mob  pursued  us;  more  than 
once,  as  we  went,  a  figure  sneaked  by  us  in  the  blackness,  and 
fled,  as  if  to  join  them.  Father  Benoit  fancied  that  there  was  a 
second  fire  a  league  to  the  east;  and  in  the  tumult  and  upheaval 
of  all  things  on  this  night,  and  the  consequent  confusion  of 
thought  into  which  I  had  fallen,  it  would  scarcely  have  surprised 
me  if  flames  had  broken  out  before  us  also,  and  announced  that 
Saux  was  burning. 

But  I  was  spared  that.  On  the  contrary,  the  whole  village 
came  out  to  meet  us,  and  accompanied  us,  cheering,  from  the 
gates  to  the  door  of  the  chateau,  where,  in  the  glare  of  the  lights 
they  carried,  and  amid  a  great  silence  of  curiosity  and  expecta- 
tion, mademoiselle  was  lifted  from  my  saddle  and  carried  into 
the  house.  The  women  who  pressed  round  the  door  to  see 
stooped  forward  to  follow  her  with  their  eyes ;  but  none  as  I 
followed  her. 

Much  that  passes  for  fair  at  night  wears  a  foul  look  by  day  ; 
and  things  tolerable  in  the  suffering  have  a  knack  of  seeming 
fantastically  impossible  in  the  retrospect.  When  I  awoke  next 
morning,  in  the  great  chair  in  the  hall — wherein,  tradition  had 
it,  Louis  XIII.  had  once  sat — and,  after  three  hours  of  troubled 
sleep,  found  Andre  standing  over  me,  and  the  sun  pouring  in 
through  door  and  window,  I  fancied  for  a  moment  that  the 
events  of  the  night,  as  I  remembered  them,  were  a  dream.  Then 
my  eyes  fell  on  a  brace  of  pistols,  which  I  had  placed  by  my 
side  overnight,  and  on  the  tray  at  which  Father  Benoit  and  I 
had  refreshed  ourselves,  and  I  knew  that  the  things  had  hap- 
pened. I  sprang  up. 

"  Is  M.  de  St.  Alais  IH  iv  :"  1  ^tid. 

••  Xo,  monsieur." 

"  Nor  M.  le  Comte  ?" 

••  Xo,  monsieur." 

"  What  !"  I  said.      "  Have  none  <>f  the  party  come?"      V»r  I 


THE  MORNING  AFTER  THE  STORM  155 

had  gone  to  sleep,  expecting  to  be  called  up  to  receive  them 
within  the  hour. 

"  No,  M.  le  Vicomte,"  the  old  man  answered,  "  except — ex- 
cept one  gentlemen  who  was  with  them,  and  who  is  now  walk- 
ing with  M.  le  Cure  in  the  garden.  And  for  him — " 

"Well?"  I  said,  sharply,  for  Andre,  who  had  got  on  his 
most  gloomy  and  dogmatic  air,  stopped  with  a  sniff  of  contempt. 

"  He  does  not  seem  to  be  a  man  for  whom  M.  le  Vicomte 
should  be  roused,"  he  answered,  obstinately.  "  But  M.  le  Cure 
would  have  it ;  and  in  these  days,  I  suppose,  we  must  tramp 
for  a  smith,  let  alone  an  officer  of  excise." 

"  Baton  is  here,  then  ?" 

"  Yes,  monsieur ;  and  walking  on  the  terrace,  as  if  of  the 
family.  I  do  not  know  what  things  are  coming  to,"  Andre 
continued,  grumbling,  and  raising  his  voice  as  I  started  to  go 
out,  "  or  what  they  would  be  at.  But  when  M.  le  Vicomte 
took  away  the  carcan  I  knew  what  was  likely  to  happen.  Oh 
yes,"  he  went  on,  still  more  loudly,  while  he  stood  holding  the 
tray,  and  looking  after  me  with  a  sour  face,  "  I  knew  what 
would  happen  !  I  knew  what  would  happen  !" 

And  certainly,  if  I  had  not  been  shaken  completely  out  of 
the  common  rut  of  thought,  I  should  have  found  something 
odd  myself  in  the  combination  of  the  three  men  whom  I  found 
on  the  terrace.  They  were  walking  up  and  down,  Father 
Benoit,  with  downcast  eyes  and  his  hands  behind  him,  in  the 
middle.  On  one  side  of  him  moved  Buton,  coarse,  heavy- 
shouldered,  and  clumsy,  in  his  stained  blouse  ;  on  the  other 
side  paced  the  stranger  of  last  night — a  neat,  middle-sized  man, 
very  plainly  dressed,  with  riding-boots  and  a  sword.  Remem- 
bering that  he  had  formed  one  of  Louis's  party,  I  was  surprised 
to  see  that  he  wore  the  tricolor ;  but  I  forgot  this  in  my  anxiety 
to  know  what  had  become  of  the  others.  Without  standing 
on  ceremony,  I  asked  him. 

"They  attacked  the  rioters,  lost  one  man,  and  were  beaten 
off,"  he  answered,  with  dry  precision. 

"  And  M.  le  Comte  ?" 

"  Was  not  hurt.  He  returned  to  Cahors,  to  raise  more  men. 
I,  as  my  advice  seemed  to  be  taken  in  ill  part,  came  here." 


156  THE    RED    COCKADE 

He  spoke  in  a  blunt,  straightforward  way,  as  to  an  equal; 
and  at  once  seemed  to  be,  and  not  to  be,  a  gentleman.  The 
cure,  seeing  that  he  puzzled  me,  hastened  to  introduce  him. 

"  This,  M.  le  Vicomte,"  he  said,  "  is  M.  le  Capital  ne  Ilugues, 
late  of  the  American  army.  He  has  placed  his  services  at 
the  disposal  of  the  Committee." 

"  For  the  purpose,"  the  captain  went  on,  before  I  had  made 
up  my  mind  how  to  take  it,  "  of  drilling  and  commanding  a 
body  of  men  to  be  raised  in  Quercy  to  keep  the  peace.  Call 
them  militia ;  call  them  what  you  like." 

I  was  a  good  deal  taken  aback.  The  man,  alert,  active, 
practical,  with  the  butt  of  a  pistol  peeping  from  his  pocket,  was 
something  new  to  me. 

"  You  have  served  His  Majesty  ?"  I  said  at  last,  to  gain  time 
to  think. 

"  No,"  he  answered.  "  There  are  no  careers  in  that  army, 
unless  you  have  so  many  quarterings.  I  served  under  General 
Washington*" 

"But  I  saw  yon  last  night  with  M.  de  St.  Alais?" 

"  Why  not,  M.  le  Vicomte  ?"  he  answered,  looking  at  me, 
plainly.  "  I  heard  that  a  house  was  being  burned.  I  had  just 
arrived,  and  I  placed  myself  at  M.  le  Comte's  disposal.  But 
they  had  no  method,  and  would  take  no  advice." 

"  Well,"  I  said,  "  these  seem  to  me  to  be  rather  extreme  steps. 
You  know — " 

"  M.  dc  Marignac's  house  was  burned  last  night,"  the  cur6 
said,  softly. 

"Oh!"" 

"  And  I  fear  that  we  shall  hear  of  others.  I  think  that  we 
must  look  matters  in  the  face,  M.  le  Vicomte." 

"It  is  not  a  question  of  thinking  or  looking,  but  of  doing!" 
tin-  captain  said,  interrupting  him,  harshly.  "  \Ve  have  a  long 
summer's  day  before  us,  but  if  by  to-night  we  have  not  done 
something,  there  will  be  a  sorry  dawning  in  Quercy  to-morrow." 

"  There  are  the  King's  troops,"  I  said. 

"They  refuse  to  obey  orders.  Therefore  they  are  worse 
than  use!' 

"Their  officei 


THE  MORNING  AFTER  THE  STORM'  157 

"  They  are  stanch ;  but  the  people  .hate  them.  A  knight 
of  St.  Louis  is  to  the  mob  what  a  red  rag  is  to  a  bull.  I 
can  answer  for  it  that  they  have  enough  to  do  to  keep  their 
men  in  barracks  and  guard  their  own  heads." 

I  resented  his  familiarity  and  the  impatience  with  which 
he  spoke ;  but,  resent  it  as  I  might,  I  could  not  return  to  the 
tone  I  had  used  yesterday.  Then  it  had  seemed  an  outrageous 
thing  that  Buton  should  stand  by  and  listen.  To-day  the  same 
thing  had  an  ordinary  air.  And  this,  moreover,  was  a  different 
man  from  Doury  ;  arguments  that  had  crushed  the  one  would 
have  no  weight  with  the  other.  I  saw  that,  and,  rather  help- 
lessly, I  asked  Father  Benoit  what  he  would  have. 

He  did  not  answer.  It  was  the  captain  who  replied.  "  We 
want  you  to  join  the  Committee,"  he  said,  briskly. 

"  I  discussed  that  yesterday,"  I  answered,  with  some  stiff- 
ness. "  I  cannot  do  so.  Father  Benoit  will  tell  you  so." 

"  It  is  not  Father  Benoit' s  answer  I  want,"  the  captain  re- 
plied. "  It  is  yours,  M.  le  Vicomte." 

"  I  answered  yesterday,"  I  said,  haughtily — "  and  refused." 

"  Yesterday  is  not  to-day,"  he  retorted.  "  M.  de  St.  Alais's 
house  stood  yesterday;  it  is  a  smoking  ruin  to-day.  M.  de 
Marignac's  likewise.  Yesterday  much  was  conjecture.  To-day 
facts  speak  for  themselves.  A  few  hours'  hesitation,  and  the 
province  will  be  in  a  blaze  from  one  end  to  the  other." 

I  could  not  gainsay  this ;  at  the  same  time  there  was  one 
other  thing  I  could  not  do,  and  that  was  change  my  views 
again.  Having  solemnly  put  on  the  white  cockade  in  Madame 
St.  Alais's  drawing-room,  I  had  not  the  courage  to  execute 
another  volte-face.  I  could  not  recant  again. 

"  It  is  impossible — impossible  in  my  case,"  I  stammered,  at 
last,  peevishly,  and  in  a  disjointed  way.  "  Why  do  you  come 
again  to  me  ?  Why  do  you  not  go  to  some  one  else  ?  There 
are  two  hundred  others  whose  names — " 

"  Would  be  of  no  use  to  us,"  M.  le  Capitaine  answered, 
brusquely  ;  "  whereas  yours  would  reassure  the  fearful,  attach 
some  moderate  men  to  the  cause,  and  not  disgust  the  masses. 
Let  me  be  frank  with  you,  M.  le  Vicomte,"  he  continued,  in 
a  different  tone.  "  I  want  your  co-operation.  I  am  here  to 


158  THE    RED    COCKADE 

take  risks,  hut  none  that  arc  unnecessary ;  and  I  prefer  that 
my  commission  should  issue  from  above  as  well  as  from  below. 
Add  your  name  to  the  Committee  and  I  accept  their  commis- 
sion. Without  doubt  I  could  police  Quercy  in  the  name  of 
the  Third  Estate,  but  I  would  rather  hang,  draw,  and  quarter 
in  the  name  of  all  three." 

"  Still,  there  are  others—" 

"  You  forget  that  I  have  got  to  rule  the  canaille  in  Cahors," 
he  answered,  impatiently,  "as  well  as  these  mad  clowns,  who 
think  that  the  end  of  the  world  is  here.  And  those  others  you 
speak  of — " 

"Are  not  acceptable,"  Father  Ben&it  said,  gently,  looking  at 
me  with  yearning  in  his  kind  eyes.  The  light  morning  air 
caught  the  skirts  of  his  cassock  as  he  spoke,  and  lifted  them 
from  his  lean  figure.  He  held  his  shovel  hat  in  his  hand 
between  his  face  and  the  sun.  I  knew  that  there  was  a  con- 
flict in  his  mind  as  in  mine,  and  that  he  would  have  me  and 
would  have  me  not;  and  the  knowledge  strengthened  me  to 
-t  his  words. 

"  It  is  impossible,"  I  said. 

"  Why  ?" 

I  was  spared  the  necessity  of  answering.  I  had  my  face  to 
the  door  of  the  house,  and  as  the  last  word  was  spoken  saw 
Andre  issue  from  it  with  M.  dc  St.  Alais.  The  manner  in 
which  the  old  servant  cried,  "  M.  le  Marquis  de  St.  Alais  to  see 
M.  le  Vicomte !"  gave  us  a  little  shock,  it  was  so  full  of  sly 
triumph ;  but  nothing  on  M.  de  St  Alais's  part,  as  he  ap- 
proached, betrayed  that  he  noticed  this.  He  advanced  with 
an  air  perfectly  gay,  and  saluted  me  with  good-humor.  F->r 
a  moment  I  fancied  that  he  did  not  know  what  had  happened 
in  the  night;  his  first  words,  however,  dispelled  the  idea. 

"  M.  le  Vicomte,"  he  said,  addressing  me  with  both  case  and 
grace,  "  we  are  forever  grateful  to  you.  I  was  abroad  on 
business  last  night,  and  could  do  nothing;  and  my  brother 
must,  I  am  told,  have  come  too  late,  even  if,  with  so  small 
a  force,  he  could  effect  anything.  I  saw  mademoiaelb  as  I 
passed  through  the  house,  and  she  gave  me  some  parti'-ulars." 

"  She  has  left  her  room  ?"  I  cried,  in   surprise.     The  other 


THE    MORNING    AFTER    THE    STORM  159 

three  had  drawn  back  a  little,  so  that  we  enjoyed  a  kind  of 
privacy. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  smiling  slightly  at  my  tone.  "  And 
I  can  assure  you,  M.  le  Vicomte,  has  spoken  as  highly  of  you 
as  a  maiden  dare.  For  the  rest,  my  mother  will  convey  the 
thanks  of  the  family  to  you  more  fitly  than  I  can.  Still,  I 
may  hope  that  you  are  none  the  worse." 

I  muttered  that  I  was  not;  but  I  hardly  knew  what  I  said. 
St.  Alais's  demeanor  was  so  different  from  that  which  I  had 
anticipated,  his  easy  calmness  and  gayety  were  so  unlike  the 
rage  and  heat  which  seemed  natural  in  one  who  had  just  heard 
of  the  destruction  of  his  "house  and  the  murder  of  his  steward, 
that  I  was  completely  nonplussed.  He  appeared  to  be  dressed 
with  his  usual  care  and  distinction,  though  I  was  bound  to  sup- 
pose that  he  had  been  up  all  night ;  and,  though  the  outrages 
at  St.  Alais  and  Marignac's  had  given  the  lie  to  his  most  con- 
fident predictions,  he  betrayed  no  sign  of  vexation. 

All  this  dazzled  and  confused  me  ;  yet  I  must  say  some- 
thing. I  muttered  a  hope  that  mademoiselle  was  not  greatly 
shaken  by  her  experiences. 

"  I  think  not,"  be  said.  "  We  St.  Alais's  are  not  made  of 
sugar.  And  after  a  night's  rest — but  I  fear  that  I  am  inter- 
rupting you  ?"  And  for  the  first  time  he  let  his  eyes  rest  on 
my  companions. 

"  It  is  to  Father  Bonoit  and  to  Buton  here  that  your  thanks 
are  really  due,  M.  le  Marquis,"  I  said.  "  For  without  their 
aid—" 

"  This  is  so,  is  it  2"  he  said,  coldly.     "  I  had  heard  it." 

"  But  not  all  ?"  I  exclaimed. 

"  I  think  so,"  he  said.  Then,  continuing  to  look  at  them, 
though  he  spoke  to  me,  he  continued :  "  Let  me  tell  you  an 
apologue,  M.  le  Vicomte.  Once  upon  a  time  there  was  a  man 
who  had  a  grudge  against  a  neighbor  because  the  good  man's 
crops  were  better  than  his.  He  went,  therefore,  secretly  and 
by  night,  and,  not  all  at  once — not  all  at  once,  messieurs — but 
little  by  little,  he  let  on  to  his  neighbor's  land  the  stream  of  a  river 
that  flowed  by  both  their  farms.  He  succeeded  so  well  that 
presently  the  flood  had  not  only  covered  the  crops,  but  threat- 


160  T1IK     HKD    COCKADE 

encd  to  drown  his  neighbor,  and  after  that  his  own  crops  and 
himself  !  Apprised  too  late  of  his  folly —  But  how  do  you  like 
tlu-  apologue,  M.  le  Cure?" 

"It  does  not  touch  me,"  Father  Bonoit  answered,  with  a  wan 
smile. 

44  I  am  no  man's  servant,  as  the  slave  boasted,"  St.  Alais  an- 
swered, with  a  polite  sneer. 

44  For  shame!  for  shame,  M.  le  Marquis!"  I  cried,  losing  pa- 
tience. "  I  have  told  you  that  but  for  M.  le  Cure  and  the  smith 
here  mademoiselle  and  I — " 

"And  I  have  told  you,"  he  answered,  interrupting  me  with 
grim  good-humor,  "  what  I  think  of  it,  M.  le  Vicomte !  That 
is  all." 

44  But  you  do  not  know  what  happened,"  I  persisted,  stung 
to  wrath  by  his  injustice.  "You  are  not,  you  cannot  be, 
aware  that  when  Father  Bcnoit  and  his  companions  arrived, 
Mademoiselle  de  St.  Alais  and  I  were  in  the  most  desperate 
plight,  that  they  saved  us  only  at  great  risk  to  themselves, 
and  that  for  our  safety  at  last  you  have  to  thank  rather  the 
tricolor,  which  those  wretches  respected,  than  any  display  of 
force  which  we  were  able  to  make." 

44  That,  too,  is  so,  is  it?"  he  said,  his  face  grown  dark.  "  I 
shall  have  something  to  say  to  it  presently.  But  first,  may  1 
ask  you  a  question,  M.  le  Vicomte?  Am  I  right  in  supposing 
that  these  gentlemen  are  waiting  on  you  from — pardon  me  if  I 
do  not  get  the  title  correctly — the  Honorable  the  Committee 
of  Public  Safety?" 

I  nodded. 

"  And  I  presume  that  I  may  congratulate  them  on  your  an- 
swer?" 

44  No,  you  may  not!"  I  replied,  with  satisfaction.  "Tins 
gentleman  " — and  I  pointed  to  the  Capitaine  Hugucs — "  has 
laid  before  me  certain  proposals  and  certain  arguments  in 
favor  of  them." 

44  But  he  has  not  laid  before  you  the  most  potent  of  all  ar- 
guments," the  captain  said,  interposing,  with  a  dry  bow.  ••  1 
find  it,  and  you,  M.  le  Vicomte,  will  find  it,  too,  in  M.  K-  Mar- 
quis de  St.  Alais  !" 


"SHE    MOVED    HER   FOOT   FOKWAKD    AND    TOUCHED    THE    RIBBON 


THE  MORNING  AFTER  THE  STORM  163 

The  marquis  stared  at  him  coldly.  "  I  am  obliged  to  you," 
he  said,  contemptuously.  "By-and-by,  perhaps,  I  shall  have 
more  to  say  to  you.  For  the  present,  however,  I  am  speaking 
to  M.  le  Vicomte."  And  he  turned,  and  addressed  me  again. 
"  These  gentlemen  have  waited  on  you.  Do  I  understand  that 
you  have  declined  their  proposals  ?" 

"  Absolutely  !"  I  answered.  "  But,"  I  continued,  warmly,  "  it 
does  not  follow  that  I  am  without  gratitude  or  natural  feeling." 

"  Ah  !"  he  said.  Then,  turning  with  an  easy  air,  "  I  see  your 
servant  there,"  he  said.  "  May  I  summon  him  one  moment?" 

"  Certainly." 

He  raised  his  hand,  and  Andre,  who  was  watching  us  from 
the  doorway,  flew  to  take  his  orders. 

He  turned  to  me  again.     "  Have  I  your  permission  ?" 

I  bowed,  wondering. 

"  Go,  my  friend,  to  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Alais,"  he  said. 
"  She  is  in  the  hall.  Beg  her  to  be  so  good  as  to  honor  us 
with  her  presence." 

Andre  went,  with  his  most  pompous  air ;  and  we  remained, 
wondering.  No  one  spoke.  I  longed  to  consult  Father  Benoit 
by  a  look,  but  I  dared  not  do  so,  lest  the  marquis,  who  kept 
his  eyes  on  my  face,  his  own  wearing  an  enigmatical  smile, 
should  take  it  for  a  sign  of  weakness.  So  we  stood  until  made- 
moiselle appeared  in  the  doorway,  and,  after  a  momentary 
pause,  came  timidly  along  the  terrace  towards  us. 

She  wore  a  frock  which  I  believe  had  been  my  mother's,  and 
was  too  long  for  her;  but  it  seemed  to  my  eyes  to  suit  her 
admirably.  A  kerchief  covered  her  shoulders,  and  she  had 
another  laid  lightly  on  her  unpowdered  hair,  which,  knotted  up 
loosely,  strayed  in  tiny  ringlets  over  her  neck  and  ears.  To 
this  charming  disarray  her  blushes,  as  she  came  towards  us, 
shading  her  eyes  from  the  sun,  added  the  last  piquancy.  I 
had  not  seen  her  since  the  women  lifted  her  from  my  saddle ; 
and,  seeing  her  now,  coming  along  the  terrace  in  the  fresh 
morning  light,  I  thought  her  divine !  I  wondered  how  I  could 
have  let  her  go.  An  insane  desire  to  defy  her  brother  and 
whirl  her  off,  out  of  this  horrid  imbroglio  of  parties  and  politics, 
seized  upon  me. 


104  THi:    RED    COCKADE 

But  she  did  not  look  towards  me,  and  ray  heart  sank.  She 
had  eyes  only  for  M.  le  Marquis,  approaching  him  as  if  he  had 
;i  magnet  which  drew  her  to  him. 

"  Mademoiselle,"  he  said,  gravely,  "  I  am  told  that  your 
escape  last  night  was  due  to  your  adoption  of  an  emblem, 
which  I  see  that  you  are  still  wearing.  It  is  one  that  no  stil>- 
ject  of  His  Majesty  can  wear  with  honor.  Will  you  oblige 
me  by  removing  it?" 

Pale  and  red  by  turns  she  shot  a  piteous  glance  at  us. 
"  Monsieur?"  she  muttered,  as  if  she  did  not  understand. 

"  I  think  I  have  spoken  plainly,"  he  said.  "  Be  good  enough 
to  remove  it." 

Wincing  under  the  rebuke,  she  hesitated,  looking  for  a  mo- 
ment as  if  she  would  burst  into  tears.  Then,  with  her  lip 
trembling  and  with  trembling  fingers,  she  complied,  and  be- 
gan to  unfasten  the  tricolor,  which  the  servants — without  her 
knowledge,  it  may  be — had  removed  from  the  robe  she  had 
worn  to  that  which  she  now  wore.  It  took  her  a  long  time  to 
remove  it,  under  our  eyes,  and  I  grew  hot  with  indignation. 
But  I  dared  not  interfere,  and  the  others  looked  on  gravely. 

"Thank  you,"  M.  do  Alais  said,  when  at  last  she  had  suc- 
ceeded in  unpinning  it.  "  I  know,  mademoiselle,  that  you  are 
a  true  St.  Alais,  and  would  die  rather  than  owe  your  life  to  dis- 
loyalty. Be  good  enough  to  throw  that  down,  and  tread  upon  it." 

She  started  violently  at  the  words.  I  think  we  all  did.  I 
know  that  I  took  a  step  forward,  and,  but  for  M.  le  Marquis's 
raised  hand,  7nust  have  intervened.  But  I  had  no  right.  We 
were  spectators ;  it  was  for  her  to  act.  She  stood  a  moment 
with  all  our  eyes  upon  her,  stood  staring  breathless  and  motion- 
less at  her  brother;  then,  still  looking  at  him,  with  a  shivering 
siirh,  she  slowly  and  mechanically  lifted  her  hand  and  dropped 
the  ribbon.  It  fluttered  down. 

"  Tread  upon  it !"  the  marquis  said,  ruthlessly. 

Sin-  trembled,  her  face,  her  child's  face,  growing  quite  white. 
But  she  did  not  move. 

"  Tread  upon  it !"  he  said,  again. 

And  then,  without  looking  down,  she  moved  her  foot  forward 
and  touched  the  ribbon. 


CHAPTER  XI 
THE    TWO    CAMPS 

"  THANK  you,  mademoiselle  ;  now  you  can  go,"  he  said. 

But  he  need  not  have  spoken,  for  the  moment  his  sister  had 
done  his  bidding  she  turned  from  us ;  before  two  words  had 
passed  his  lips  she  was  hurrying  back  to  the  house  in  a  passion 
of  grief,  her  face  covered,  and  her  slight  figure  shaken  by  sobs 
that  came  back  to  us  on  the  summer  air. 

The  sight  stung  me  to  rage  ;  yet  for  a  moment,  and  by  a 
tremendous  effort,  I  restrained  myself.  I  would  hear  him  out. 

But  he  either  did  not  or  would  not  see  the  effect  he  had 
produced.  "  There,  messieurs,"  he  said,  his  face  somewhat 
pale.  "  I  am  obliged  for  your  patience.  Now  yon  know  what 
I  think  of  your  tricolor  and  your  services.  It  shall  shelter 
neither  me  nor  mine !  I  hold  no  parley  with  assassins." 

I  sprang  forward  ;  I  could  contain  myself  no  longer.  "  And 
I !"  I  cried — "  I,  M.  le  Marquis,  have  something  to  say  too  !  I 
have  something  to  declare !  A  moment  ago  I  refused  that  tri- 
color !  I  rejected  the  overtures  of  those  who  brought  it  to  me. 
I  was  resolved  to  stand  by  you  and  by  my  brethren  against  my 
better  judgment.  I  was  of  your  party,  though  I  did  not  be- 
lieve in  it ;  and  you  might  have  tied  me  to  it.  But  this  gen- 
tleman is  right,  you  are  yourself  the  strongest  argument  against 
yourself.  And  I  do  this  !  I  do  this  !"  I  repeated,  passionate- 
ly. "  See,  M.  le  Marquis,  and  know  that  it  is  your  doing !" 

With  the  word  I  snatched  up  the  ribbon  on  which  mademoi- 
selle had  trodden,  and  with  fingers  that  trembled  scarcely  less 
than  hers  had  trembled  when  she  unfastened  it,  I  pinned  it  on 
my  breast. 

He  bowed,  with  a  sardonic  smile.       "  A  cockade  is  easily 


106  THE    RED    COCKADE 

changed,"  he  said.  But  I  could  see  that. he  was  livid  with 
rage ;  that  he  could  have  slain  me  for  the  rebuke. 

"  You  mean,"  I  said,  hotly,  "  that  I  am  easily  turned." 

"  You  put  on  the  cap,  M.  le  Vicomte,"  he  retorted. 

The  other  three  had  withdrawn  a  little — not  without  open 
signs  of  disgust  —  and  left  us  face  to  face  on  the  spot  on 
which  we  had  stood  three  weeks  before  on  the  eve  of  his  moth- 
er's reception.  Still  raging  with  anger  on  mademoiselle's  ac- 
count, and  minded  to  wound  him,  I  recalled  that  to  him,  and 
the  prophecies  he  had  then  uttered — prophecies  which  had  been 
so  ill  fulfilled. 

lie  took  me  up  at  the  second  word.  "  111  fulfilled  ?"  he  said, 
grimly.  "Yes,  M.  le  Vicomte;  but  why?  Because  those  who 
should  support  me,  those  who  from  one  end  of  France  to  the 
other  should  support  the  King,  are  like  you — waverers  who  do 
not  know  their  own  minds  !  Because  the  gentlemen  of  France 
are  proving  themselves  churls  and  cravens,  unworthy  of  the 
names  they  bear!  Yes,  ill  fulfilled,"  he  continued,  bitterly, 
"  because  you,  M.  de  Saux,  and  men  like  you,  are  for  this  to-day 
and  for  that  to-morrow,  and  cry  one  hour  '  Reform,'  and  the 
next '  Order !' " 

The  denial  stuck  in  my  throat,  and,  my  passion  dying  down,  I 
could  only  glower  at  him.  He  saw  this,  and  taking  advantage 
of  my  momentary  embarrassment,  "  But  enough,"  he  continued, 
in  ;i  tone  of  dignity  very  galling  to  me,  since  it  was  he  who  had 
l.i  haved  ill,  not  I.  "  Enough  of  this.  While  it  was  possible,  I 
courted  your  aid,  M.  de  Saux ;  and  I  acknowledge,  I  still  ac- 
knowledge, and  shall  be  the  last  to  disclaim,  the  obligation 
under  which  you  last  night  placed  us.  But  there  can  never  be 
true  fellowship  between  those  who  wear  that" — and  he  pointed 
to  the  tricolor  I  had  assumed — "and  those  who  serve  the  Kinir, 
as  we  serve  him.  You  will  pardon  me,  therefore,  if  I  take  my 
leave,  and  without  delay  withdraw  my  sister  from  a  house  in 
which  her  presence  may  be  misunderstood,  as  mine,  after  what 
has  passed,  must  be  unwelcome." 

lie  bowed  again  with  that,  and  led  the  way  into  the  house; 
while  I  followed,  tongue-tied,  and  with  a  sudden  chill  at  my 
heart.  There  was  no  one  in  the  hall,  except  Andre,  who  was 


THE    TWO    CAMPS  1G7 

hovering  about  the  farther  door ;  but  in  the  avenue  beyond 
were  three  or  four  mounted  servants,  waiting  for  M.  de  St. 
Alais,  and  half-way  down  the  avenue  a  party  of  three  were  riding 
towards  the  gates.  It  needed  but  a  glance  to  show  me  that  the 
foremost  of  these  was  mademoiselle ;  and  that  she  rode  low  in 
the  saddle,  as  if  she  still  wept.  And  I  turned  in  a  hot  fit  to 
M.  de  St.  Alais. 

But  I  found  his  eye  fixed  on  me  in  such  a  fashion  that  the 
words  died  on  my  lips.  He  coughed  dryly.  "  Ah  !"  he  said. 
"  So  mademoiselle  has  herself  felt  the  propriety  of  leaving. 
You  will  permit  me,  then,  to  make  her  acknowledgments,  M. 
de  Saux,  and  to  take  leave  for  her." 

He  saluted  me  with  the  words,  and  turned.  He  already  had 
his  foot  raised  to  the  stirrup,  when  I  muttered  his  name. 

He  looked  round.  "  Pardon  1"  he  said.  "  Is  there  any- 
thing—" 

I  beckoned  to  the  servants  to  stand  back.  I  was  in  misery, 
between  rage  and  shame,  the  hot  fit  gone.  "  Monsieur,"  I  said, 
"  there  is  one  more  thing  to  be  said.  This  does  not  end  all 
between  mademoiselle  and  me.  For  mademoiselle — " 

"  We  will  not  speak  of  her  !"  he  exclaimed. 

But  I  was  not  to  be  put  down.  "  For  mademoiselle,  I  do  not 
know  her  sentiments,"  I  continued,  doggedly  disregarding  his 
interruption,  "  nor  whether  I  am  agreeable  to  her.  But  for  my- 
self, M.  de  St.  Alais,  I  tell  you  frankly  that  I  love  her,  nor  shall 
I  change  because  I  wear  one  tricolor  or  another.  Therefore — " 

"  I  have  only  one  thing  to  say,"  he  cried,  raising  his  hand  to 
stay  me. 

I  gave  way,  breathing  hard.     "  What  is  it  ?"  I  said. 

"  That  you  make  love  like  a  bourgeois  !"  he  answered,  laugh- 
ing insolently,  "  Or  a  mad  Englishman  !  And  as  Mademoi- 
selle de  St.  Alais  is  not  a  baker's  daughter,  to  be  wooed  after 
that  fashion,  I  find  it  offensive.  Is  that  enough,  or  shall  I  say 
more,  M.  le  Vicomte  ?" 

"That  will  not  be  enough  to  turn  me  from  my  path  !"  I  an- 
swered. "  You  forget  that  I  carried  mademoiselle  hither  in  my 
arms  last  night.  But  I  do  not  forget  it,  and  she  will  not  forget 
it.  We  cannot  be  henceforth  as  we  were,  M.  le  Marquis." 


168  THE    RED    COCKADE 

"You  saved  her  life  and  base  a  claim  upon  it!"  he  said, 
scornfully.  "That  is  generous  and  like  a  gentleman  !'' 

••  Xo,  I  do  not !"  I  answered,  passionately.  "  But  I  have 
held  mademoiselle  in  my  arms,  and  she  has  laid  her  head  on 
my  breast,  and  you  can  undo  neither  the  one  nor  the  other. 
Henceforth  I  have  a  right  to  woo  her,  and  I  shall  win  her." 

••  While  I  live  you  never  shall!"  he  answered,  fiercely.  "I 
swear  that,  as  she  trod  on  that  ribbon  —  at  my  word,  at  my 
word,  monsieur! — so  she  shall  tread  on  your  love.  From  this 
day  seek  a  wife  among  your  friends;  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Alais 
is  not  for  you." 

I  trembled  with  rage.  "  You  know,  monsieur,  that  1  cannot 
fight  you  !"  I  said. 

"  Nor  I  you,"  he  answered.     "  I  know  it.     Therefore,"  In- 
continued,  pausing  an  instant   and   reverting  with  marvellous 
to  his  former  politeness,  "  I  will  fly  from  you.      Farewell, 
m»nsicur — I  do  not  say,  until  we  meet  again;  for  I  do  not 
think  that  we  shall  meet  much  in  future." 

I  found  nothing  wherewith  to  answer  that,  and  he  turned 
and  moved  away  down  the  avenue.  Mademoiselle  and  her  es- 
cort had  long  disappeared  ;  his  servants,  obeying  my  gesture, 
were  almost  at  the  gates.  I  watched  his  figure  as  he  rode  un- 
d'T  the  boughs  of  the  walnuts,  that  meeting  low  over  his  head 
let  the  sun  fall  on  him  through  spare  rifts;  and,  sore  and  mis- 
eral'le  at  heart  myself,  I  marvelled  at  the  gallant  air  he  main- 
tained, and  the  careless  grace  of  his  bearing. 

<  '•  rtainly  he  had  force.  He  had  the  force  his  fellows  lacked, 
and  he  had  it  so  abundantly  that  as  I  gazed  after  him  tin- 
words  I  had  used  to  him  seemed  weak  and  foolish,  the  resolu- 
tion I  had  flung  in  his  teeth  childish.  After  all,  he  was  right ; 
this,  to  which  my  feelings  had  impelled  me  on  the  spur  of  an- 
ger and  love  and  the  moment,  was  no  French  or  proper  way  of 
wooing,  nor  one  which  I  should  have  relished  in  my  sister's  t 
"NVliy,  then,  had  I  degraded  mademoiselle  by  it,  and  exposed  my- 
self ?  Men  wooed  mistresses  that  way,  not  wives ! 

So  that  I  felt  very  wretched  as  I  turned  to  go  into  the  house. 
But  there  my  eye  alighted  on  the  pistols  which  still  lay  on  the 
table  in  the  hall,  and  with  a  sudden  revulsion  of  feeling  I  re- 


THE    TWO    CAMPS  169 

membered  that  others'  affairs  were^nit  of  order  too  ;  that  the 
chateaux  of  St.  Alais  and  Marignac  lay  in  ashes,  that  last  night 
I  had  saved  mademoiselle  from  death,  that  beyond  the  walnut 
avenue,  with  its  cool,  long  shade  and  dappled  floor,  beyond  the 
quiet  of  this  summer  day,  lay  the  seething,  brawling  world  of 
Quercy  and  of  France  —  the  world  of  maddened  peasants  and 
frightened  townsfolk,  and  soldiers  who  would  not  fight,  and 
nobles  who  dared  not. 

Then,  vive  le  tricolor!  the  die  was  cast.  I  went  through 
the  house  to  find  Father  Ben6it  and  his  companions,  meaning  to 
throw  in  my  lot  and  return  with  them.  But  the  terrace  was 
empty ;  they  were  nowhere  to  be  seen.  Even  of  the  servants 
I  could  only  find  Andre,  who  came  pottering  to  me  with  his  lips 
pursed  up  to  grumble.  I  asked  him  where  the  cure  was. 

"  Gone,  M.  le  Vicomte." 

"  And  Buton  ?" 

"  He  too — with  half  the  servants,  for  the  matter  of  that." 

"  Gone  ?"  I  exclaimed.     "  Whither  ?" 

"  To  the  village  to  gossip,"  he  answered,  churlishly.  "  There 
is  not  a  turnspit  now  but  must  hear  the  news,  and  take  his  own 
leave  and  time  to  gather  it.  The  world  is  turned  upsidedown, 
I  think.  It  is  time  His  Majesty  the  King  did  something." 

"Did  not  M.  le  Cure  leave  a  message?" 

The  old  servant  hesitated.  "  Well,  he  did,"  he  said,  grudg- 
ingly. "  He  said  that  if  M.  le  Vicomte  would  stay  at  home  un- 
til the  afternoon  he  should  hear  from  him." 

"  But  he  was  going  to  Cahors  !"  I  said.  "  He  is  not  returning 
to-day  ?" 

"  He  went  by  the  little  alley  to  the  village,"  Andre  answered, 
obstinately.  "  I  do  not  know  anything  about  Cahors." 

"  Then  go  to  the  village  now,"  I  said,  "  and  learn  whether  he 
took  the  Cahors  road." 

The  old  man  went  grumbling,  and  I  remained  alone  on  the 
terrace.  An  abnormal  quietness,  as  of  the  afternoon,  lay  on  the 
house  this  summer  morning.  I  sat  down  on  a  stone  seat 
against  the  wall,  and  began  to  go  over  the  events  of  the  night, 
recalling  with  the  utmost  vividness  things  to  which  at  the  time 
I  had  scarcely  given  a  glance,  and  shuddering  at  horrors  that  in 


170  THE    KED    COCKADE 

the  happening  had  barely  moved  me.  Gradually  my  thoughts 
passed  from  these  things  which  made  my  pulses  beat,  and  I 
began  to  busy  myself  with  mademoiselle.  I  saw  her  again  sit- 
ting low  in  the  saddle  and  weeping  as  she  went.  The  bees 
hummed  in  the  warm  air,  the  pigeons  cooed  softly  in  the  dove- 
cot, the  trees  on  the  lawn  below  me  shaped  themselves  into  an 
avenue  over  her  head,  and,  thinking  of  her,  I  fell  asleep. 

After  such  a  night  as  I  had  spent  it  was  not  unnatural.  But 
when  I  awoke  and  saw  that  it  was  high  noon  I  was  wild  with 
vexation.  I  sprang  up,  and,  darting  suspicious  glances  round 
me,  caught  Andre  skulking  away  under  the  house  wall.  I 
called  him  back,  and  asked  him  why  he  had  let  me  sleep. 

"  I  thought  that  you  were  tired,  monsieur,"  he  muttered, 
blinking  in  the  sun.  "  M.  le  Vicomtc  is  not  a  peasant  that  he 
may  not  sleep  when  he  pleases." 

"  And  M.  le  Cure  ?     lias  he  not  returned  ?" 

••  Xo,  monsieur." 

"  And  he  went — which  way  ?" 

He  named  a  village  half  a  league  from  us,  and  then  said  that 
my  dinner  waited. 

I  was  hungry,  and  for  the  moment  asked  no  more,  but  went 
in  and  sat  down  to  the  meal.  When  I  rose  it  was  nearly  two 
o'clock.  Expecting  Father  Benoit  every  moment,  I  bade  them 
sa<Mle  the  horses  that  I  might  be  ready  to  go;  and  then,  too 
restless  to  remain  still,  I  went  into  the  village.  Here  I  found  all 
in  turmoil.  Three-fourths  of  the  inhabitants  were  away  at  St. 
Alais  inspecting  the  ruins,  and  those  who  remained  thought  of 
nothing  so  little  as  doing  their  ordinary  work  ;  but,  standing  in 
groups  at  their  doors,  or  at  the  cross-roads  or  the  church  gates, 
were  discussing  events.  One  asked  me  timidly  if  it  were  true 
that  the  King  had  given  all  the  land  to  the  peasants;  another, 
if  there  were  to  be  any  more  taxes;  a  third,  a  question  still  more 
simple.  Vet  with  this  I  met  with  no  laek  of  respect  ;  and  few- 
failed  to  express  their  j'»y  that  I  had  escaped  the  rutlians  la-baa. 
l'>nt  as  I  approached  each  group  a  subtle  shade  of  expectation, 
of  shyness  and  suspicion,  M  cm.  .1  to  flit  across  faces  the  most 
familiar  to  me.  At  the  moment  I  did  not  understand  it,  and 
even  apprehended  it  but  dimly.  N<>w,  after  the  event,  now  that 


THE    TWO    CAMPS  171 

it  is  too  late,  I  know  that  it  was  the  first  symptom  of  the  social 
poison  doing  its  sure  and  deadly  work. 

With  all  this  I  could  hear  nothing  of  M.  le  Cure ;  one  say- 
ing that  he  was  here,  another  there,  a  third  that  he  had  gone  to 
Cahors  ;  and,  in  the  end,  I  returned  to  the  chateau  in  a  state  of 
discomfort  and  unrest  hard  to  describe.  I  would  not  again 
leave  the  front  of  the  house,  lest  I  should  miss  him ;  and  for 
hours  I  paced  the  avenue,  now  listening  at  the  gates  or  looking 
up  the  road,  now  walking  quickly  to  and  fro  under  the  walnuts. 
In  time  evening  fell,  and  night ;  and  still  I  was  here  awaiting 
the  cure's  coming,  chained  to  the  silent  house,  while  my  mind 
tortured  me  with  pictures  of  what  was  going  forward  outside. 
The  restless  demon  of  the  time  had  hold  of  me ;  the  thought 
that  I  lay  here  idle  while  the  world  heaved  made  me  miserable, 
filled  me  with  shame.  When  Andre  came  at  last  to  summon 
me  to  supper,  I  swore  at  him ;  and  the  moment  I  had  done  I 
went  up  to  the  roof  of  the  chateau  and  watched  the  night,  ex- 
pecting to  see  again  a  light  in  the  sky  and  the  far-off  glare  of 
burning  houses. 

I  saw  nothing,  however,  and  the  cure  did  not  come  ;  and, 
after  a  wakeful  night,  seven  in  the  morning  saw  me  in  the  sad- 
dle and  on  the  road  to  Cahors.  Andre  complained  of  illness, 
and  I  took  Gil  only.  The  country  around  St.  Alais  seemed  to 
be  deserted  ;  but  half  a  league  farther  on,  over  the  hill,  I  came 
on  a  score  of  peasants  trudging  sturdily  forward.  I  asked  them 
whither  they  were  going,  and  why  they  were  not  in  the  fields. 

"  We  are  going  to  Cahors,  monseigneur,  for  arms,"  they  said. 

"  For  arms  !     Whom  are  you  going  to  fight  ?" 

"  The  brigands,  monseigneur.  They  are  burning  and  mur- 
dering on  every  side.  By  the  mercy  of  God  they  have  not  yet 
visited  us.  And  to-night  we  shall  be  armed." 

"  Brigands  !"  I  said.     "  What  brigands  ?" 

But  they  could  not  answer  that;  and  I  left  them  in  wonder 
at  their  simplicity,  and  rode  on.  I  had  not  yet  done  with  these 
brigands,  however.  Half  a  league  short  of  Cahors  I  passed 
through  a  hamlet  where  the  same  idea  prevailed.  Here  they 
had  raised  a  rough  barricade  at  the  end  of  the  street  towards  the 
country,  and  I  saw  a  man  on  the  church-tower  keeping  watch. 


17-'  TUK     KKIi     C'OCKAUK 

Meanwhile  every  one  in  the  place  who  could  walk  had  gone  to 
Cahors. 

"  Why  ?"  I  asked.     "  For  what  ?" 

"  To  hear  the  news." 

Then  I  began  to  see  that  my  imagination  had  not  led  me 
astray.  All  the  world  was  heaving,  all  the  world  was  astir. 
Every  one  was  hurrying  to  hear  and  to  learn  and  to  tell ;  to 
take  arms  if  he  had  never  used  arms  before,  to  advise  if  all  his 
life  he  had  obeyed  orders,  to  do  anything  and  everything  but 
his  daily  work.  After  this,  that  I  should  find  Cahors  humming 
like  a  hive  of  bees  about  to  swarm,  and  the  Valandr6  bridge  so 
crowded  that  I  could  scarcely  force  my  way  through  its  three 
gates,  and  the  queue  of  people  waiting  for  rations  longer  and 
rations  shorter  than  ever  before  —  after  this,  I  say,  all  these 
things  seemed  only  natural. 

Nor  was  I  much  surprised  to  find  that  as  I  rode  through  the 
streets,  wearing  the  tricolor,  I  was  hailed  here  and  there  with 
cheers.  On  the  other  hand,  I  noticed  that  wearers  of  white 
cockades  were  not  lacking.  They  kept  the  wall  in  twos  and 
threes,  and  walked  with  raised  chins  and  hands  on  sword-knots, 
and  were  watched  askance  by  the  commonalty.  A  few  of  thriu 
were  known  to  me,  more  were  strangers;  and  while  I  blushed 
under  the  scornful  looks  of  the  former,  knowing  that  I  must 
seem  to  them  a  renegade,  I  wondered  who  the  latter  were. 
Finally,  I  was  glad  to  escape  from  both  by  alighting  at  Doury's, 
over  whose  door  a  huge  tricolor  flag  hung  limp  in  the  sunshine. 

M.  le  Cure  de  Saux  ?  Yes,  he  was  even  then  sitting  with  the 
Committee  up-stairs.  Would  M.  le  Vicomte  walk  uj> .' 

I  did  so,  through  a  press  of  noisy  people,  who  thronged  the 
stairs  and   passages  and   lobbies,  and  talked  and  gesticulated, 
and  seemed  t<>  l>e  settled  there  for  the  day.     I  worked  my  way 
through  these  at  last,  the  door  was  opened,  a  fresh  gust  of  \\- 
came  out    t'i   meet    me,  and   I  entered    the   room.      In  it,  seated 
round  a  long  table,  I  found  a  score  of  men,  of  whom  some  rose 
to   meet,    me,  while    more    kept   their  seats;  three  or  four  \\ 
speaking  at  once,  ami  did    not  stop  mi   my  entrance.      I  recog- 
nized  at   the   farther  end    Father    Henoit  and   Hilton.  \\h..  came 
to  meet  me  ;  and  C'apitaine  lliigues,  \\ho  pise,  but  continued  to 


THE    TWO    CAMPS  173 

speak.  Besides  these  there  were  two  of  the  smaller  noblesse, 
who  left  their  chairs  and  came  to  me  in  an  ecstasy,  and  Doury, 
who  rose  and  sat  down  half  a  dozen  times  ;  and  one  or  two 
cures  and  others  of  that  rank,  known  to  me  by  sight.  The  up- 
roar was  great,  the  confusion  equal  to  it.  Still,  somehow,  and 
after  a  moment  of  tumult,  I  found  myself  received  and  wel- 
comed, and  placed  in  a  chair  at  the  end  of  the  table,  with  M. 
le-Capitaine  on  one  side  of  me,  and  a  notary  of  Cahors  on  the 
other.  Then,  under  cover  of  the  noise,  I  stole  a  few  words 
with  Father  Benoit,  who  lingered  a  moment  beside  me. 

"  You  could  not  join  us  yesterday  ?"  he  muttered,  with  a  pa- 
thetic look  that  only  I  understood. 

"  But  you  left  a  message  bidding  me  wait  for  you,"  I  an- 
swered. 

"  I  did  ?"  he  said.  "  No  ;  I  left  a  message  asking  you  to  fol- 
low us,  if  it  pleased  you." 

"  Then  I  never  got  it,"  I  replied.     "  Andre  told  me — " 

"  Ah !  Andre,"  he  answered,  softly.  And  he  shook  his 
head. 

"  The  rascal !"  I  said  ;  "  then  he  lied  to  me.     And—" 

But  some  one  called  the  cure  to  his  place,  and  we  had  to  part. 
At  the  same  instant  most  of  the  talkers  ceased  ;  a  moment,  and 
only  two  were  left  speaking,  who,  without  paying  the  least  re- 
gard to  one  another,  continued  to  hold  forth  to  their  neighbors, 
haranguing,  one  on  the  social  contract,  the  other  on  the  brig- 
ands— the  brigands  who  were  everywhere  burning  the  corn  and 
killing  the  people ! 

At  last  M.  le  Capitaine,  after  long  waiting  to  speak,  attacked 
the  former  speaker.  "  Tut,  monsieur !"  he  said.  "  This  is  not 
the  time  for  theory.  A  halfpenny  wortli  of  fact — " 

"  Is  worth  a  pound  of  theory  !"  the  man  of  the  brigands — he 
was  a  grocer,  I  believe — cried,  eagerly  ;  and  he  brought  his  fist 
down  on  the  table. 

"But  now  is  the  time,  the  God -sent  time,  to  frame  the 
facts  to  the  theory  !"  the  other  combatant  screamed.  "  To  form 
a  perfect  system  !  To  regenerate  the  world,  I  say  !  To — " 

"To  regenerate  the  fiddlestick!"  his  opponent  answered, 
with  equal  heat.  "  AVhen  brigands  are  at  our  very  doors  ! 


174  TIIK     KKK     CUCKAIH: 

when  our  crops  are  being  burned,  and  our  houses  plundered ! 
when—" 

"  Monsieur,"  the  captain  said,  harshly,  commanding  silence  by 
the  gravity  of  his  tone,  "  if  you  please  !" 

-  Yes." 

"  Then,  to  be  plain,  I  do  not  believe  any  more  in  your  brig- 
amis  than  in  M.  1'Avoue's  theories." 

Tliis  time  it  was  the  grocer's  turn  to  scream.  "  What  .'"  la- 
med. "  When  they  have  been  seen  at  Figeac,  and  Cajarc,  and 
Rodez,  and — " 

"  By  whom?"  the  soldier  asked,  sharply  interrupting  him. 

"By  hundreds." 

"  Name  one." 

"  But  it  is  notorious  !" 

••  Yes,  monsieur — it  is  a  notorious  lie  !"  M.  le  Capitaine  an- 
swered, bluntly.  "  Believe  me,  the  brigands  with  whom  we  have- 
to  deal  are  nearer  home.  Allow  us  to  arrange  with  them  first, 
and  do  not  deafen  M.  le  Vicomte  with  your  chattering." 

"  Hear !  hear  !"  the  lawyer  cried. 

But  this  insult  proved  too  much  for  the  man  of  the  brigands. 
He  began  again,  and  others  joined  in,  for  him  and  against  him  ; 
to  my  despair,  it  seemed  as  if  the  quarrel  were  only  beginning 
— as  if  peace  would  have  to  be  made  afresh. 

H"\v  all  this  noise,  tumult,  and  disputation,  this  absence  of 
the  politeness  to  which  I  had  been  accustomed  all  my  life,  this 
vulgar  jostling  and  brawling,  depressed  me  I  need  not  say.  I 
sat  deafened,  lost  in  the  scramble  ;  of  no  more  account,  for  the 
moment,  than  Buton.  Nay,  of  less;  for  while  I  gazed  about  me 
and  listened,  sunk  in  wonder  at  my  position  at  a  table  with  peo- 
ple of  a  class  with  whom  I  had  never  sat  down  before — save  at 
the  chance  table  of  an  inn,  where  my  presence  kept  all  within 
bounds — it  was  Buton  who, by  coming  to  the  officer's  aid,  finally 
gained  silence. 

••  Now  you  have  had  your  say.  perhaps  you  will  let  me  have 

mine,"  the  captain  said,  with  acerbity,  taking  advantage  of  the 

hearing  thus  gained   f«»r  him.     "  It  is  very  well  for  you,  M. 

1'Avoue,  and  you,  monsieur — I  have  forgotten  your  name — you 

not   fighting- men,  and  my  diH'n-ulty  does  not  affect  you. 


"  '  YES,'  I    SAID,   STIFFLY,   FOR    I    FOUND    ALL    LOOKING    AT    UK  ' 


THE    TWO    CAMPS  177 

But  there  are  half  a  dozen  at  this  table  who  are  placed  as  I  am, 
and  they  understand.  You  may  organize  ;  but  if  your  officers 
are  carried  off  every  morning,  you  will  not  go  far." 

"How  carried  off?"  the  lawyer  cried,  puffing  out  his  thin 
cheeks.  "  Members  of  the  Committee  of — " 

"  How  ?"  M.  le  Capitaine  rejoined,  cutting  him  short  without 
ceremony.  "  By  the  prick  of  a  small  sword  !  You  do  not  un- 
derstand ;  but,  for  some  of  us,  we  cannot  go  three  paces  from 
this  door  without  risk  of  an  insult  and  a  challenge." 

"  That  is  true  !"  the  two  gentlemen  at  the  foot  of  the  table 
cried  with  one  voice. 

"  It  is  true,  and  more,"  the  captain  continued,  warming  as  he 
spoke.  "  It  is  no  chance  work,  but  a  plan.  It  is  their  plan  for 
curbing  us.  I  have  seen  three  men  in  the  streets  to-day  who  I 
can  swear  are  fencing-masters  in  fine  clothes." 

"  Assassins  !"  the  lawyer  cried,  pompously. 

"  That  is  all  very  well,"  Hugues  said,  more  soberly ;  "  you 
may  call  them  what  you  please.  But  what  is  to  be  done  ?  If 
we  cannot  move  abroad  without  a  challenge  and  a  duel  we  are 
helpless.  You  will  have  all  your  leaders  picked  off." 

"  The  people  will  avenge  you  !"  the  lawyer  said,  with  a  grand 
air. 

M.  le  Capitaine  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Thank  you  for 
nothing,"  he  said. 

Father  Benoit  interposed.  "At  present,"  he  said,  anxiously, 
"I  think  that  there  is  only  one  thing  to  be  done.  You  have 
said,  M.  le  Capitaine,  that  some  of  the  Committee  are  not  fight- 
ing-men. "Why,  I  would  ask,  should  any  fight,  and  play  into 
our  opponents'  hands  ?" 

"  Par  Dieu  !  I  think  that  you  are  right !"  Hugues  answered, 
frankly.  And  he  looked  round  as  if  to  collect  opinions.  "Why 
should  we  ?  I  am  sure  that  I  do  not  wish  to  fight.  I  have  given 
my  proofs." 

There  was  a  short  pause,  during  which  we  looked  at  one  an- 
other doubtfully.  "Well,  why  not?"  the  captain  said,  at  last. 
"  This  is  not  play,  but  business.  We  are  no  longer  gentlemen 
at  large,  but  soldiers  under  discipline." 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  stiffly,  for  I  found  all  looking  at  me.   ."  But  it 


1  7^  THK     UKI)    ciH'K  U)E 

is  difficult,  M.  lo  Oapitaine,  for  men  of  lionor  to  divest  them- 
selves of  certain  ideas.  If  we  are  n«>t  t<>  protect  ourselves  from 
insult,  we  sink  to  the  level  of  be.i 

••  Have  no  fear,  M.  le  Vicointe  !"  Buton  cried,  abruptly.  "  The 
people  will  not  suffer  it !" 

"  No,  no ;  the  people  will  not  suffer  it !"  one  or  two  echoed  ; 
and  for  a  moment  the  room  rang  with  cries  of  indignation. 

"Well,  at  any  rate,"  the  captain  said,  at  last,  "all  are  now 
warned.  And  if,  after  this,  they  fight  lightly,  they  do  it  with 
full  knowledge  that  they  are  playing  their  adversaries'  game.  I 
hope  all  understand  that.  For  my  part,"  he  continued,  shrug- 
ging his  shoulders,  with  a  dry  laugh,  "they  may  cane  me;  I 
shall  not  fight  them.  I  am  no  fool!" 


CHAPTER  XII 
THE    DUEL 

I  HAVE  said  already  how  all  this  weighed  me  down ;  with 
what  misgivings  I  looked  along  the  table,  from  the  pale,  pinched 
features  of  the  lawyer  to  the  smug  grin  of  the  grocer,  or  Buton's 
coarse  face ;  with  what  sinkings  of  heart  I  found  myself  on  a 
sudden  the  equal  of  these  men,  addressed  now  with  rude  ab- 
ruptness and  now  with  servility  ;  last,  but  not  least,  with  what 
despondency  I  listened  to  the  wrangling  which  followed,  and 
which  it  needed  all  the  exertions  of  the  captain  to  control. 
Fortunately,  the  sitting  did  not  last  long.  After  half  an  hour 
of  debate  and  conversation,  during  which  I  did  what  I  could  to 
aid  the  few  who  knew  anything  of  business,  the  meeting  broke 
up;  and  while  some  went  out  on  various  missions,  others  re- 
mained to  deal  with  such  affairs  as  arose.  I  was  one  of  those 
appointed  to  stay,  and  I  drew  Father  Benoit  into  a  corner,  and, 
hiding  for  a  moment  the  feeling  of  despair  which  possessed  me, 
I  asked  him  if  any  further  outbreaks  had  occurred  in  the  coun- 
try round. 

"  No,"  he  answered,  secretly  pressing  my  hand.  "  We  have 
done  so  much  good,  I  think."  Then,  in  a  different  tone,  which 
showed  how  clearly  he  read  my  mind,  he  continued,  under  his 
breath,  "  Ah  !  M.  le  Vicomte,  let  us  only  keep  the  peace !  Let 
us  do  what  lies  to  our  hands.  Let  us  protect  the  innocent,  and 
then  no  matter  what  happens.  Alas!  I  foresee  more  than  I 
predicted.  More  than  I  dreamed  of  is  in  peril.  Let  us  only 
cling  to — " 

He  stopped  and  turned,  startled  by  the  noisy  entrance  of  the 
captain,  who  came  in  so  abruptly  that  those  who  remained  at 
the  table  sprang  to  their  feet.  M.  Hugues's  face  was  flushed, 


180  TI1F.     UKI>     CoCKAIiK 

his  eyes  were  gleaming  with  anger.  The  lawyer,  who  stood 
nearest  to  the  door,  turned  a  shade  paler  and  stammered  out  a 
question.  But  the  captain  passed  by  him  with  a  glance  of  con- 
tempt and  came  straight  to  me.  "  M.  le  Yicomte,"  he  said,  out 
l"iid,  blurting  out  his  words  in  haste,  "yon  are  a  gentleman. 
You  will  understand  me.  I  want  your  help." 

I  stared  at  him.  "  Willingly,"  I  said.  "  But  what  is  the 
matter  ?" 

"  I  have  been  insulted  !"  he  answered,  his  mustaches  curling. 

«  How  ?" 

"  In  the  street !  And  by  one  of  those  puppies !  But  I  will 
teach  him  manners !  I  am  a  soldier,  sir,  and  I — 

"But  stay,  M.  le  Capitaine,"  I  said,  really  taken  aback;  "I 
understood  that  there  was  to  be  no  fighting.  And  that  you  in 
particular — " 

"Tut!  tut!" 

" — would  be  caned  before  you  would  go  out." 

"  Sucre  Nom  /"  he  cried,  "  what  of  that  ?  Do  you  think  that 
I  am  not  a  gentleman  because  I  have  served  in  America  instead 
of  in  France  ?" 

\"'»,"  I  said,  scarcely  able  to  restrain  a  smile.  "But  it  is 
playing  into  their  hands.  So  you  said  yourself  a  minute  ago, 
and—" 

"  Will  you  help  me,  or  will  you  not,  sir?"  he  retorted,  angrily. 
And  then,  as  the  lawyer  tried  to  intervene,  "  Be  silent,  you  !"  lie 
continued,  turning  on  him  so  violently  that  the  scrivener  jumped 
back  a  pace.  "  What  do  you  know  of  these  things  ?  You  mis- 
erable pettifogger!  you — " 

"Softly,  softly,  M.  le  Capitaine,"  I  said,  startkd  by  this  out- 
break, and  by  the  prospect  of  further  brawling  which  it  dis- 
closed. "  M.  TAvoue  is  doing  merely  his  duty  in  remonstrating. 
!!••  is  in  the  right,  and — " 

"  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  him  !  And  for  you — you  will  not 
assist  me  .'" 

"  I  did  not  say  that." 

"Then,  if  you  will,  I  crave  your  services  at  once!  At 
once,"  he  said,  more  calmly ;  but  he  still  kept  his  shoulder  to 
the  lawyer.  "I  have  appointed  a  meeting  behind  the  cathe- 


THE    DUEL  181 

dral.  If  you  will  honor  me,  I  must  ask  you  to  do  so  imme- 
diately." 

I  saw  that  it  was  useless  to  say  more ;  that  he  had  made  up 
his  mind ;  and  for  answer  I  took  up  rny  hat.  In  a  moment  we 
were  moving  towards  the  door.  The  lawyer,  the  grocer,  half  a 
dozen  cried  out  on  us,  and  would  have  stopped  us.  But  Father 
Benoit  remained  silent,  and  I  went  on  down  the  stairs  and  out 
of  the  house.  Outside  it  was  easy  to  see  that  the  quarrel  and 
insult  had  had  spectators ;  a  gloomy  crowd — not  compact,  but 
made  up  of  watching  groups — filled  all  the  sunny  open  part  of 
the  square.  The  pavement,  on  the  other  hand,  along  which  we 
had  to  pass  to  go  to  the  cathedral,  had  for  its  only  occupants  a 
score  or  more  of  gentlemen,  who,  wearing  white  cockades,  walked 
up  and  down  in  threes  and  fours.  The  crowd  eyed  them  si- 
lently ;  they  affected  to  see  nothing  of  the  crowd.  Instead, 
they  talked  and  smiled  carelessly,  and  with  half-opened  eyes ; 
swung  their  canes  and  saluted  one  another,  and  now  and  then 
stopped  to  exchange  a  word  or  a  pinch  of  snuff.  They  wore 
an  air  of  insolence,  ill -hidden,  which  the  silent,  almost  cowed 
looks  of  the  multitude,  as  it  watched  them  askance,  seemed  to 
justify. 

We  had  to  run  the  gantlet  of  these,  and  my  face  burned 
with  shame  as  we  passed.  Many  of  the  men  whom  I  met  now 
I  had  met  two  days  before  at  Madame  St.  Alais's,  where  they 
had  seen  me  put  on  the  white  cockade  ;  they  saw  me  now  in  the 
opposite  camp;  they  knew  nothing  of  my  reasons,  and  I  read  in 
their  averted  eyes  and  curling  lips  what  they  thought  of  the 
change.  Others — and  they  looked  at  me  insolently,  and  scarce- 
ly gave  me  room  to  pass  —  were  strangers,  wearing  military 
swords  and  the  cross  of  St.  Louis. 

Fortunately  the  passage  was  as  short  as  it  was  painful.  We 
passed  under  the  north  wall  of  the  cathedral,  and  through  a  lit- 
tle door  into  a  garden,  where  lime-trees  tempered  the  glare  of 
the  sun,  and  the  town,  with  its  crowd  and  noise,  seemed  to  be 
in  a  moment  left  behind.  On  the  right  rose  the  walls  of  the 
apse  and  the  heavy  eastern  domes  of  the  cathedral ;  in  front 
rose  the  ramparts ;  on  the  left  an  old,  half-  ruined  tower  of  the 
fourteenth  century  lifted  a  frowning,  ivy-covered  head.  In  the 


1  -I'  THE    RED    COCKADE 

shadow  at  its  foot,  on  a  piece  of  smooth  sward,  a  group  of  four 
persons  were  standing  waiting  for  us. 

One  was  M.  de.  St.  Alais,  one  was  Louis;  the  others  were 
strangers.  A  sudden  thought  filled  me  with  horror.  "  Whom 
are  you  going  to  fight  ?"  I  muttered. 

"  M.  de  St.  Alais,"  the  captain  answered,  in  the  same  tone. 
And  then,  being  within  ear-shot  of  the  others,  I  could  say  no 
in- -re.  They  stepped  forward,  and  saluted  us. 

••  M.  le  Vicomte  ?"  Louis  said,  lie  was  grave  and  stern.  I 
scarcely  knew  him. 

I  assented  mechanically,  and  we  stepped  aside  from  the 
others.  "This  is  not  a  case  that  admits  of  intervention,  I 
believe?"  he  said,  bowing. 

"  I  suppose  not,"  I  answered,  huskily. 

In  truth,  I  could  scarcely  speak  for  horror.  I  was  waking 
slowly  to  the  consciousness  of  the  dilemma  in  which  I  had 
placed  myself.  Were  St.  Alais  to  fall  by  the  captain's  sword, 
what  would  his  sister  say  to  me,  what  would  she  think  of  me, 
how  would  she  ever  touch  my  hand  ?  And  yet  could  I  wish 
ill  to  my  own  principal  ?  Could  I  do  so  in  honor,  even  if 
something  sturdy  and  practical,  something  of  plain  gallantry, 
in  the  man,  whom  I  was  here  to  second,  had  not  already  and 
insensibly  won  my  heart? 

Yet  one  of  the  two  must  fall.  The  great  clock  above  my 
head,  slowly  telling  out  the  hour  of  noon,  beat  the  truth  into 
my  brain.  For  a  moment  I  grew  dizzy  ;  the  sun  dazx.ied  me, 
the  trees  reeled  before  me,  the  garden  swam.  The  murmur 
of  the  crowd  outside^  filled  my  ears.  Then  out  of  the  mist 
Louis's  voice,  unnaturally  steady,  gripped  my  attention,  and 
my  brain  grew  clear  again. 

••Have  you  any  objection  to  this  spot?"  he  said.  "The 
s  is  dry  and  not  slippery.  They  will  fight  in  shadow, 
and  the  light  is  good." 

"It  will  do,"  I  muttered. 

"  Perhaps  you  will  examine  it?  There  is,  I  think,  no  trip  or 
fault." 

I  affected  to  do  BO.     "  I  find  none,"  I  said,  hoarsely. 

"  Then  we  had  better  place  our  men  ?" 


THE    DUEL  183 

"  I  think  so." 

I  had  no  knowledge  of  the  skill  of  either  combatant,  but 
as  I  turned  to  join  Hugues  I  was  startled  by  the  contrast 
which  the  two  presented  as  they  stood  a  little  apart,  their 
upper  clothes  removed.  The  captain  was  the  shorter  by  a  head, 
and  stiff  and  sturdy,  with  a  clear  eye  and  keen  visage.  M.  le 
Marquis,  on  the  other  hand,  was  tall  and  lithe,  and  long  in  the 
arm,  with  a  reach  which  threatened  danger,  and  a  smile  almost 
as  deadly.  I  thought  that  if  his  skill  and  coolness  were  on  a 
par  with  his  natural  gifts,  M.  Hugues — but  then  again  my  head 
reeled.  What  did  I  wish  ? 

"  We  are  ready,"  M.  Louis  said,  impatiently  ;  and  I  noticed 
that  he  glanced  past  me  towards  the  gate  of  the  garden. 
"  Will  you  measure  the  swords,  M.  le  Vicomte  ?" 

I  complied,  and  was  about  to  place  my  man  when  M.  le 
Capitaine  indicated  by  a  sign  that  he  wished  to  speak  to  me, 
and,  disregarding  the  frowns  of  the  other  side,  I  led  him  apart. 

His  face  had  lost  the  glow  of  passion  which  had  animated 
it  a  few  minutes  before,  and  was  pale  and  stern.  "  This  is  a 
fool's  trick,"  he  said,  curtly,  and  under  his  breath.  "  It  will 
serve  me  right  if  that  puppy  goes  through  me.  You  will  do 
me  a  favor,  M.  le  Vicomte  ?" 

I  muttered  that  I  would  do  him  any  in  my  power. 

"I  borrowed  a  thousand  francs  to  fit  myself  out  for  this 
service,"  he  continued,  avoiding  my  eye,  "  from  a  man  in  Paris 
whose  name  you  will  find  in  my  valise  at  the  inn.  Should 
anything  happen  to  me,  I  should  be  glad  if  you  will  send  him 
what  is  left.  That  is  all." 

"  He  shall  be  paid  in  full,"  I  said.    "  I  will  see  to  it." 

He  wrung  my  hand  and  went  to  his  station  ;  and  Louis  and 
I  placed  ourselves  on  either  side  of  the  two,  ready,  with  our 
swords  drawn,  to  interfere  should  need  arise.  The  signal  was 
given,  the  principals  saluted,  and  fell  on  guard;  and  in  a  mo- 
ment the  grinding  and  clicking  of  the  blades  began,  while  the 
pigeons  of  the  cathedral  flew  in  eddies  above  us,  and  in  the 
middle  of  the  garden  a  little  fountain  tinkled  softly  in  the  sun- 
shine. 

They  had  not  made  three  passes  before  the  great  diversity 


184  THE    RED    COCKADE 

of  their  styles  became  apparent.  While  Hugues  played  vL 
ously  with  his  body,  stooping  and  moving,  and  stepping  aside, 
but  keeping  his  arm  stiff,  and  usini;  his  \\rist  much,  M.  le 
Marquis  held  his  body  erect  and  still,  but  moved  his  arm, 
and,  fencing  with  a  school  correctness,  as  if  he  held  a  foil,  dis- 
dained all  artifices  save  those  of  the  weapon.  It  was  clear  that 
he  was  the  better  fencer,  and  that  of  the  two  the  captain 
must  tire  first,  since  he  was  never  still,  and  the  wrist  is  more 
quickly  fatigued  than  the  arm  ;  but,  in  addition  to  this,  I  soon 
perceived  that  the  marquis  was  not  putting  forth  his  full 
strength,  but,  depending  on  his  defence,  was  waiting  to  tire 
out  his  opponent.  My  eyes  grew  hot,  my  throat  dry,  as  I 
watched  breathlessly,  waiting  for  the  stroke  that  must  finish 
all  —  waiting  and  flinching.  And  then,  on  a  sudden,  something 
happened.  The  captain  seemed  to  slip,  yet  did  not  slip,  but  in 
a  moment,  stooping  almost  prone,  his  left  hand  on  the  ground, 
was  under  the  other's  guard.  His  point  was  at  the  marquis's 
breast,  when  the  latter  sprang  back  —  sprang  back,  and  just 
saved  himself.  Before  the  captain  could  recover  his  footing, 
Louis  dashed  his  sword  aside. 

"Foul  play!"  he  cried,  passionately.     "Foul  play!    A  stroke 
dessous  !     It  is  not  en  regie." 

The  captain  stood  breathing  quickly,  his  point  to  the  ground. 
"But  why  not,  monsieur?"  he  said.     Then  he  looked  to  me. 

"  I   scarcely   understand,   M.    de   St.    Alais,"  I   said,  stiffly. 
"  The  stroke—" 

"  Is  not  allowed." 

"  In  the  schools,"  I  said.     "  But  this  is  a  duel." 

"  I  have  never  seen  it  used  in  a  duel,"  he  said. 

••No  matter,"  I  answered,  warmly.     "To  interfere  on  such 
is  absurd." 


"Is  absurd!"!  repeated,  firmly.  "After  su.-h  treatment  I 
have  no  resource  but  to  withdraw  M.  le  Capitainc  from  the 
Bdd." 

••  iVrhaps  you  will  take  his  place,"  some  one  behind  me  said 
with  a  sneer. 

I  turned  sharply.     One  of   the   two  persons   whom  we  had 


•    .  .    . 


'"FOUL  PLAY!'  HE  CRIED,  PASSIONATELY.     'A  STROKE 


THE    DUEL  187 

found  with  St.  Alais  was  the  speaker.  I  saluted  him.  "  The 
surgeon  ?"  I  said. 

"No,"  he  answered,  angrily.  "I  am  M.  du  Marc,  and  very 
much  at  your  service." 

"  But  not  a  second,"  I  rejoined.  "  And  therefore  you  have 
no  right  to  be  standing  where  you  are,  nor  to  be  here.  I 
must  request  you  to  withdraw." 

"  I  have  at  least  as  much  right  as  those,"  he  answered,  point- 
ing to  the  roof  of  the  cathedral,  over  the  battlements  of  which 
a  number  of  heads  could  be  seen  peering  down  at  us. 

I  stared. 

"  Our  friends  have  at  least  as  much  right  as  yours,"  he  con- 
tinued, taunting  me. 

"  But  they  do  not  interfere,"  I  answered,  firmly.  "  Nor  shall 
you.  I  request  you  to  withdraw." 

He  still  refused,  and  even  tried  to  bluster ;  but  this  proved 
too  much  for  Louis's  stomach ;  he  intervened  sharply,  and  at 
a  word  from  him  the  bully  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  moved 
away.  Then  we  four  looked  at  one  another. 

"  We  had  better  proceed,"  the  captain  said,  bluntly.  "  If  the 
stroke  was  irregular,  this  gentleman  was  right  to  interfere.  If 
not—" 

"  I  am  willing,"  M.  de  St.  Alais  said. 

And  in  a  moment  the  two  fell  on  guard,  and  to  it  again ; 
but  more  fiercely  now,  and  with  less  caution,  the  captain  more 
than  once  using  a  rough,  sweeping  parry,  in  greater  favor  with 
practical  fighters  than  in  the  fencing-school.  This,  though  it 
left  him  exposed  to  a  riposte,  seemed  to  disconcert  M.  le  Mar- 
quis, who  fenced,  I  thought,  less  skilfully  than  before,  and 
more  than  once  seemed  to  be  flurried  by  the  captain's  at- 
tack. I  began  to  feel  doubtful  of  the  result;  my  heart  began 
to  beat  more  quickly;  the  glitter  of  the  blades  as  they  slid  up 
and  down  one  another  confused  my  sight.  I  looked  for  one 
moment  across  at  Louis  —  and  in  that  moment  the  end  came. 
M.  le  Capitaine  used  again  his  sweeping  parry,  but  this  time  the 
circle  was  too  wide ;  St.  Alais's  blade  darted  serpent-like  under 
his.  The  captain  staggered  back.  His  sword  dropped  from  his 
hand. 


188  THK    RED    COCKAUK 

Before  he  could  fall  I  caught  him  in  my  arms,  but  blood  was 
gushing  already  from  a  wound  in  the  side  of  his  neck.  Hi-  just 
turned  his  eyes  to  my  face,  and  tried  once  to  speak.  I  caught 
the  words  "  You  will — ,"  and  then  blood  choked  his  voice,  and 
his  eyes  slowly  closed.  He  was  dead,  or  as  good  as  dead,  before 
the  surgeon  could  reach  him,  before  I  could  lay  him  <>n  the 

I  knelt  a  moment  beside  him,  perfectly  stunned  by  the  sud- 
denness of  the  catastrophe,  watching  in  a  kind  of  fascination 
the  surgeon  feeling  pulse  and  heart,  and  striving  with  Ins  thumb 
to  stop  the  bleeding.  For  a  moment  or  two  mv  world  was  re- 
duced to  the  sinking  gray  face,  the  quivering  eyelids  before  me, 
and  I  saw  nothing,  heeded  nothing,  thought  of  nothing  else.  I 
could  not  believe  that  the  valiant  spirit  had  fled  already  ;  that 
the  stout  man  who  had  so  quickly,  yet  insensibly,  won  my 
liking  was  in  this  moment  dead — dead  and  growing  livid,  while 
the  pigeons  still  circled  overhead,  and  the  sparrows  chirped,  and 
the  fountain  tinkled  in  the  sunshine. 

I  cried  out  in  my  agony.  "Not  dead?"  I  said.  "Not  dead 
so  soon  '." 

"  Yes,  M.  le  Vicomtc,  it  was  bad  luck,"  the  surgeon  answered, 
letting  the  passive  head  fall  on  the  stained  grass.  "  With  such 
a  wound  nothing  can  be  done." 

lie  rose  as  he  spoke ;  but  I  remained  on  my  knees,  wrapt  and 
absorbed,  staring  at  the  glaxing  eyes  that  a  few  minutes  be- 
fore had  been  full  of  life  and  keenness.  Then,  with  a  shudder, 
I  turned  my  look  on  myself.  His  Mood  covered  me;  it  was  on 
mv  breast,  my  arm,  mv  hands,  soaking  into  my  coat.  From  it 
my  thoughts  turned  to  St.  Alais  ;  and  at  the  moment,  as  I  looked 
instinctively  round  to  sec  where  lie  was,  or  if  he  had  gone,  I 
started.  The  deep  boom  of  a  heavy  hell,  tolled  once,  shook  the 
air:  while  its  solemn  burden  still  hung  mournfully  on  the  ear, 
quick  footsteps  ran  towards  me,  and  I  heard  a  har>h  cry  at  my 
elbow:  "  lint,  limn  1H,  a!  This  is  murder!  They  are  murder- 
ing u^  '." 

\  looked  behind  me.  The  speaker  was  Du  Marc,  the  bully 
who  had  vainly  tried  to  pro\oke  me.  The.  t\\o  St.  Alaises  and 
the  surgeon  were  with  him,  and  all  four  came  from  the  direction 


THE    DUEL  189 

of  the  door  by  which  we  had  entered.  They  passed  me  with 
averted  eyes,  and  hurried  towards  a  little  postern  which  flanked 
the  old  tower  and  opened  on  the  ramparts.  As  they  went  out 
of  sight  behind  a  buttress  that  intervened  the  bell  boomed  out 
again  above  my  head,  its  dull  note  full  of  menace. 

Then  I  awoke  and  understood — understood  that  the  noise 
which  filled  my  ears  was  not  the  burden  of  the  bell  carried  on 
from  one  deep  stroke  to  another,  but  the  roar  of  angry  voices  in 
the  square,  the  babel  of  an  approaching  crowd  crying  "  A  la  lan- 
terne  !  A  la  lanterne  !"  From  the  battlements  of  the  cathedral, 
from  the  louvres, of  the  domes,  from  every  window  of  the  great 
gloomy  structure  that  frowned  above  me,  men  were  making 
signs,  and  pointing  with  their  hands,  and  brandishing  their  fists 
— at  me,  I  thought  at  first,  or  at  the  body  at  my  feet.  But  then 
I  heard  footsteps  again,  and  I  turned  and  found  the  other  four 
behind  me,  close  to  me  ;  the  two  St.  Alaises,  pale  and  stern,  with 
bright  eyes  ;  the  bully  pale,  too,  but  with  a  look  which  shot  fur- 
tively here  and  there,  and  white  lips. 

"Curse  them,  they  are  at  that  door,  too!"  he  cried,  shrilly. 
"  We  are  beset.  We  shall  be  murdered.  By  God,  we  shall  be 
murdered,  and  by  these  canaille !  By  these — I  call  all  here  to 
witness  that  it  was  a  fair  fight'.  I  call  "you  to  witness,  M.  le  Vi- 
comte,  that — " 

"It  will  help  us  much,"  St.  Alais  said,  with  a  sneer,  "if  he 
does.  If  I  were  once  at  home — " 

"  Aye,  but  how  are  we  to  get  there  ?"  Du  Marc  cried.  He  could 
not  hide  his  terror.  "  Do  you  understand,"  he  continued,  queru- 
lously, addressing  me,  "  that  we  shall  be  murdered  ?  Is  there  no 
other  door  ?  Speak,  some  one.  Speak  !'' 

His  fears  appealed  to  me  in  vain.  I  would  scarcely  have 
stirred  a  finger  to  save  him.  But  the  sight  of  the  two  St.  Alaises 
standing  there  pale  and  irresolute,  while  that  roar  of  voices  grew 
each  moment  louder  and  nearer,  moved  me.  A  moment,  and  the 
mob  would  break  in  ;  perhaps,  finding  us  by  Hugues's  side,  it 
might  in  its  fury  sacrifice  all  indifferently.  It  might ;  and  then 
I  heard,  to  give  point  to  the  thought,  the  crash  of  one  of  the 
doors  of  the  garden  as  it  gave  way  ;  and  I  cried  out  almost  in- 
voluntarily that  there  was  another  door — another  door,  if  it  were 
10 


190  THE    RED    COCKADE 

open.  I  did  not  look  to  sec  if  they  followed,  but,  leaving  the 
dead,  I  took  the  lead,  and  ran  across  the  sward  towards  the  wall 
of  the  cathedral. 

The  crowd  were  already  pouring  into  the  garden,  but  a  clump 
of  shrubs  hid  us  from  them  as  we  fled,  and  we  gained  unseen  a 
little  door,  a  low-browed  postern  in  the  wall  of  the  apse,  that  led, 
I  knew — for  not  long  before  I  had  conducted  an  English  visitor 
over  the  cathedral — to  a  sacristy  connected  with  the  crypt.  My 
hope  of  finding  the  door  open  was  slight;  if  I  had  stayed  to 
wei<rli  the  chances  I  should  have  thought  them  desperate.  But 
to  inv  j"\  as  I  came  up  to  it,  closely  followed  by  the  others,  it 
opened  of  itself,  and  a  priest,  showing  his  tonsured  head  in  the 
aperture,  beckoned  to  us  to  hasten,  lie  had  little  need  to  do  so ; 
in  a  moment  we  had  obeyed,  were  by  his  side,  and,  panting,  heard 
tin-  liolts  shoot  home  behind  us.  For  the  moment  we  were 
safe, 

Then  we  breathed  again.  We  stood  in  the  twilight  of  a  long 
narrow  room  with  walls  and  roof  of  stone,  and  three  loop-holes 
for  windows.  l)u  Marc  was  the  first  to  speak.  ••  M<m  Dieu, 
that  was  close,"  he  said,  wiping  his  brow,  which  in  the  cold  light 
wore  an  ugly  pallor.  "  We  are — " 

"Not  out  of  the  woo'd  yet,"  the  surgeon  ansueie.l.  gravely, 
"though  we  have  good  grounds  for  thanking  M.  le  \  icointe. 
They  have  discovered  us!  Yes,  they  are  coming!" 

1'rol.ably  the  people  on  the  roof  had  watched  us  enter  and 
denounced  our  place  of  refuge ;  for  as  he  spoke  we  heard  a 
rush  of  feet,  the  door  shook  under  a  storm  of  blows,  and  a  score 
<.f  <_'rimv.  savage  faces  showed  at  the  slender  arrow -slits,  and, 
glaring  down,  howled  and  spat  curses  upon  us.  Luckily  the 
door  was  of  oak,  studded  and  plated  with  iron,  fashioned  in  old, 
roii^h  days  for  such  an  emergency,  and  we  stood  comparatively 
Yet  it  was  terrible  to  hear  the  cries  of  the  mob,  to  feel 
them  so  close,  to  gatiijc  their  hatred,  and  know,  while  they  beat 
on  the  stone  as  though  they  would  tear  the  walls  with  their 
naked  hands,  what  it  would  be  to  fall  into  their  power  ! 

We  looked  at  one  another,  and — but  it  may  have  been  the 
dim  light — I  saw  no  face  that  was  not  pale.  Fortunately  the 
pause  was  short.  The  euro  who  had  admitted  us  unlocked  as 


THE    DUEL  191 

quickly  as  he  could  an  inner  door.  "  This  way,"  he  said — but 
the  snarling  of  the  beasts  outside  almost  drowned  his  voice — 
"  if  you  will  follow  me  I  will  let  you  out  by  the  south  entrance. 
But  be  quick,  gentlemen,  be  quick,"  he  continued,  pushing  us 
out  before  him,  "  or  they  may  guess  what  we  are  about,  and  be 
there  before  us." 

It  may  be  imagined  that  after  that  we  lost  no  time.  We  fol- 
lowed him  as  quickly  as  we  could  along  a  narrow  subterranean 
passage,  very  dimly  lit,  at  the  end  of  which  a  flight  of  six  steps 
brought  us  into  a  second  passage.  We  almost  ran  along  this, 
and  though  a  locked  door  delayed  us  a  moment — which  seemed 
a  minute,  and  a  long  one — the  key  was  found,  and  the  door 
opened.  We  passed  through  it,  and  found  ourselves  in  a  long, 
narrow  room,  the  counterpart  of  that  we  had  first  entered.  The 
cure  opened  the  farther  door  of  this,  I  looked  out.  The  alley 
outside,  the  same  which  led  beside  the  cathedral  to  the  chapter- 
house, was  empty. 

"  We  are  in  time,"  I  said,  with  a  sigh  of  relief ;  it  was  pleas- 
ant to  breathe  the  fresh  air  again.  And  I  turned,  still  panting 
with  the  haste  we  had  made,  to  thank  the  good  cure  who  had 
saved  us. 

M.  de  St.  Alais,  who  followed  me  and  had  kept  silence 
throughout,  thanked  him  also.  Then  M.  le  Marquis  stood  hesi- 
tating on  the  threshold,  while  I  looked  to  see  him  hurry  away. 
At  last  he  turned  to  me.  "  M.  de  Saux,"  he  said,  speaking  with 
less  aplomb  than  was  usual  with  him — but  we  were  all  agitated — 
"  I  should  thank  you  also.  But  perhaps  the  situation  in  which 
we  stand  towards  one  another — " 

"I  think  nothing  of  that,"  I  answered,  harshly.  "But  that 
in  which  we  have  just  stood — " 

"  Ah,"  he  rejoined,  shrugging  his  shoulders, "  if  you  take  it 
that  way — " 

"  I  do  take  it  that  way,"  I  answered — the  captain's  blood  was 
not  yet  dry  on  the  man's  sword,  and  he  spoke  to  me  ! — "  I  do 
take  it  that  way.  And  I  warn  you,  M.  le  Marquis,"  I  continued, 
sternly,  "  that  if  you  pursue  your  plan  further — a  plan  that  has 
already  cost  one  brave  man  his  life — it  will  recoil  on  yourselves, 
and  that  most  terribly." 


19^  THE  RED  COCKADE 

"  At  least  I  shall  not  ask  you  to  shield  me,"  he  ansv. 
proudly.     And  he  walked  carelessly  uu  ty,  sheathing  his  sword 
as  he  went.     The  passage  was  still  empty.     There  was  no  one 
to  stop  him. 

Louis  followed  him ;  Du  Marc  and  the  surgeon  had  already  dis- 
appeared. I  fancied  that  as  Louis  passed  me  he  hung  a  mo- 
ment on  his  heel ;  and  that  he  would  have  spoken  to  me,  would 
have  caught  my  eye,  would  have  taken  my  hand,  had  I  given 
him  an  opening.  But  I  saw  before  me  Hugues's  dead  fa> 
sunken  eyes,  and  I  set  my  own  face  like  a  stone  and  turned 
away. 


CHAPTER  XIII 
A    LA    I.ANTERNE 

V 

FOR  of  all  the  things  that  had  happened  since  I  left  the 
Committee  -  room  the  captain's  death  remained  the  one  most 
real  and  most  deeply  bitten  into  my  mind.  He  had  shared 
with  me  the  walk  from  the  inn  to  the  garden,  and  the  petty 
annoyances  that  had  then  filled  my  thoughts.  He  had  faced 
them  with  me,  and  bravely  ;  and  this  late  association,  and  the 
picture  of  him  as  he  walked  beside  me,  full  of  life  and  coarse 
wrath,  rose  up  now  and  cried  out  against  his  death — cried  out 
that  it  was  impossible ;  so  that  it  seemed  horrible  to  me  and 
I  shook  with  fear,  and  loathed  the  man  whose  hand  had  done  it. 

Nor  was  that  all.  I  had  known  Htigues  barely  forty- eight 
hours;  my  liking  for  him  was  only  an  hour  born  ;  but  I  had  his 
story.  I  could  follow  him  going  about  to  borrow  the  small 
sum  of  money  he  had  named  ;  I  could  trace  the  hopes  he  had 
built  on  it;  I  could  see  him  coming  here  full  of  honest  courage, 
believing  that  he  had  found  an  opening;  a  man  strong,  confi- 
dent, looking  forward,  full  of  plans.  And  then,  of  all,  this  was 
the  end  !  He  had  hoped,  he  had  purposed ;  and  on  the  other 
side  of  the  cathedral  he  lay  stark  —  stark  and  dead  on  the 
grass. 

It  seemed  so  sad  and  pitiful^  I  had  the  man  so  vividly  in  my 
mind,  that  I  scarcely  gare  a  thought  to  the  St.  Alaises'  danger 
and  escape  ;  that,  and  our  hasty  flight,  had  passed  like  a  dream. 
I  was  content  to  listen  a  moment  beside  the  church  door ;  then, 
satisfied  that  the  murmur  of  the  crowd  was  dying  in  the  dis- 
tance and  that  the  city  was  quiet,  I  thanked  the  vicar  again, 
and  warmly,  and,  taking  leave  of  him,  in  my  turn  walked  up 
the  passage. 


I'.M  TIIK     KKI)     COCKAUK 

It  was  so  still  that  it  echoed  ray  footsteps ;  and  presently  I 
began  to  think  the  silence'  odd.  I  began  to  wonder  why  the 
mob,  which  a  few  minutes  before  had  shown  itself  so  vindic- 
tivo,  had  not  found  its  way  round;  why  the  neighborhood 
had  become  on  a  sudden  so  quiet.  A  few  paces  would  show, 
however.  I  hastened  on,  and  in  a  moment  stood  in  the  market- 
place. 

To  my  astonishment  it  lay  sunny,  tranquil,  utterly  deserted  ; 
a  dog  ran  here  and  there  with  tail  high,  nosing  among  the  u  ir- 
bage;  a  few  old  women  were  at  the  stalls  on  the  farther  side; 
about  as  many  people  were  busy  putting  up  shutters  and  clos- 
ing shops.  But  the  crowd  which  had  filled  the  place  so  short 
a  time  before,  the  queue  about  the  corn  measures,  the  white 
cockades,  all  were  gone.  I  stood  astonished. 

For  a  moment  only,  however.  Then,  in  place  of  the  si- 
lence which  had  prevailed  between  the  high  walls  of  the  pas- 
sage, a  dull  sound,  distant  and  heavy,  began  to  speak  to  me;  a 
sullen  roar,  as  of  breakers  falling  on  the  beach.  I  started  and 
listened.  A  moment  more  and  I  was  across  the  square  and  at 
the  inn.  I  darted  into  the  passage  and  up  the  stairs,  my  heart 
beating  fast. 

Here,  too,  I  had  left  a  crowd,  in  the  passages  and  on  the 
stairs.  Not  a  man  remained.  The  house  seemed  to  be  dead, 
at  noonday,  with  the  sun  shining  outside.  I  saw  no  one,  heard 
no  one,  until  I  reached  the  door  of  the  room  in  which  I  had 
left  the  Committee  and  entered.  Here  at  last  I  found  life, 
but  the  same  silence. 

llmind  the  table  were  seated  some  dozen  of  the  members  of 
the  Committee.  On  seeing  me  they  started,  like  men  detected 
in  an  act  of  which  they  were  ashamed,  some  continuing  to  sit. 
sullen  and  scowling,  with  their  elbows  on  the  table,  others 
stooping  to  their  neighbors'  ears  to  whisper  or  listen.  I 
noticed  that  many  were  pale,  and  all  gloomy ;  and  though  the 
room  was  light,  and  hot  noon  poured  in  through  three  windows, 
a  something  grim  in  the  silence  and  the  air  of  expectation 
which  prevailed  struck  a  chill  to  my  heart. 

Father  Benuit  was  not  of  them,  but  IJuton  was,  and  the 
lawyer,  and  the  grocer,  and  the  two  gentlemen,  and  one  of  the 


A    LA    LANTERNE  195 

cures,  and  Doury — the  last  named  pale  and  cringing,  with  fear 
sitting  heavily  on  him.  I  might  have  thought,  at  a  first  glance 
round,  that  nothing  which  had  happened  outside  was  known  to 
them  ;  that  they  were  ignorant  alike  of  the  duel  and  the  riot; 
but  a  second  glance  assured  me  that  they  knew  all,  and  more 
than  I  did ;  so  many  of  them,  when  they  had  once  met  my 
eyes,  looked  away. 

"  What  has  happened  ?"  I  asked,  standing  half-way  between 
the  door  and  the  long  table. 

"Don't  you  know,  monsieur?" 

"  No,"  I  muttered,  staring  at  them.  Even  here  that  distant 
murmur  filled  the  air. 

"But  you  were  at  the  duel,  M.  le  Vicomte?" 

The  speaker  was  Buton.  "  Yes,"  I  said,  nervously.  "  But 
what  of  that?  I  saw  M.  le  Marquis  safe  on  his  way  home,  and  I 
thought  that  the  crowd  had  separated.  Now — "  and  I  paused, 
listening. 

"  You  fancy  that  you  still  hear  them  ?"  he  said,  eying  me 
closely  and  smiling. 

"  Yes  ;  I  fear  that  they  are  at  mischief." 

"  We  are  afraid  of  that,  too,"  the  smith  answered,  dryly, 
setting  his  elbows  on  the  table  and  looking  at  me  anew.  "  It 
is  not  impossible." 

Then  I  understood.  I  caught  Doury's  eye  —  which  would 
fain  have  escaped  mine — and  read  it  there.  The  hooting  of 
the  distant  crowd  rose  more  loudly  on  the  summer  stillness; 
as  it  did  so,  faces  round  the  table  grew  graver,  lips  grew 
longer,  some  trembled  and  looked  down ;  and  I  understood. 
"  My  God  !"  I  cried,  in  excitement,  trembling  myself,  "  is  no  one 
going  to  do  anything,  then?  Are  you  going  to  sit  here  while 
these  demons  work  their  will  ?  While  houses  are  sacked,  and 
women  and  children — " 

"  Why  not?"  Buton  said,  curtly. 

"  Why  not?"  I  cried. 

"Aye,  why  not?"  he  answered,  sternly — and  I  began  to  sco 
that  lie  dominated  the  others ;  that  he  would  not  and  they 
dared  not.  "  We  went  about  to  keep  the  peace  and  see  that 
others  kept  it.  But  your  white  cockades,  your 


190  THE    RED    COCKADE 

bullies,  your  soldierless  officers,  M.  le  Vicomte — I  speak  with- 
out offence — would  not  have  it.  They  undertook  to  bully  us, 
ami  unless  they  learn  a  lesson  now  they  will  bully  us  again. 
No,  monsieur,"  he  continued,  looking  round  with  a  hard  smile 
— already  power  had  changed  him  \\ondroiisly — "let  the  peo- 
ple have  their  way  for  half  an  hour,  and — " 

"  The  people  ?"  I  cried.  "  Are  the  rascals  and  sweepings  of 
the  streets,  the  jail-birds,  the  beggars,  and  for  fats  of  the  town 
— are  they  the  people  ?" 

••  No  matter,"  he  said,  frowning. 

"  But  this  is  murder!" 

Two  or  three  shivered,  and  some  looked  sullenly  from  me  ;  but 
the  blacksmith  only  shrugged  his  shoulders.  Still  I  did  not 
despair  ;  I  was  going  to  say  more — to  try  threats,  even  prayers  ; 
but  before  I  could  speak  the  man  nearest  to  the  windows 
raised  his  hands  for  silence,  and  we  heard  the  distant  riot  sink, 
and  in  the  momentary  quiet  which  followed  the  sharp  report  of 
a  gun  ring  out,  succeeded  by  another  and  another.  Then  a 
roar  of  rage — distinct,  articulate,  full  of  menace. 

"Oh,  mon  Dieuf"  I  cried,  looking  round,  while  I  trembled 
with  indignation,  "I  cannot  stand  this!  AVill  no  one  act? 
"Will  no  one  do  anything?  There  must  be  some  authority. 
There  must  be  some  one  to  curb  this  canaille;  or  presently — I 
warn  you,  I  warn  you  all,  that  they  will  cut  your  throats  also — 
yours,  M.  1'Avoue,  and  yours,  Doury  !" 

"There  was  some  one,  and  he  is  dead,"  Buton  answered. 
The  rest  of  the  Committee  fidgeted  gloomily. 

••  And  was  he  the  only  one?" 

"They've  killed  him,"  the  smith  said,  bluntly.  "They  must 
take  the  consequences." 

"They?"  1  cried,  in  a  passion  of  wrath  ami  pity.  "  Aye,  and 
you  !  And  you  !  I  tell  you  that  you  arc  using  this  scum  of  the 
people  to  crush  your  enemies  !  But  presently  they  will  crush 
yon,  too!" 

Still  no  one  spoke,  no  one  answered  me;  no  eyes  met  mine; 
then  I  saw  how  it  was:  that  nothing  I  could  say  would  move 
them  ;  and  1  turned  without  another  word  and  ran  down- 
stairs. I  knew  already,  or  could  guess,  whither  the  ero\\d  had 


A    LA    LANTERNE  197 

gone,  and  whence  came  the  shouting  and  the  shots;  and  the 
moment  I  reached  the  square  I  turned  in  the  direction  of  the 
St.  Alais  house,  and  ran  through  the  streets — through  quiet 
streets,  under  windows  from  which  women  looked  down  white 
and  curious,  past  neat  green  blinds  of  modern  houses,  past  a  few 
staring  groups;  ran  on,  with  all  about  me  smiling,  but  always 
with  that  murmur  in  my  ears,  and  at  my  heart  grim  fear. 

They  were  sacking  the  St.  Alais  house  !  And  mademoiselle ! 
And  madame  ! 

The  thought  of  them  came  to  me  late;  but  having  come  it 
was  not  to  be  displaced.  It  gripped  my  heart  and  seemed  to 
stop  it.  Had  I  saved  mademoiselle  only  for  this  ?  Had  I 
risked  all  to  save  her  from  the  frenzied  peasants,  only  that  she 
might  fall  into  the  more  cruel  hands  of  these  maddened  wretch- 
es, these  sweepings  of  the  city? 

It  was  a  dreadful  thought ;  for  I  loved  her,  and  knew,  as  I 
ran,  that  I  loved  her.  Had  I  not  known  it  I  must  have  known 
it  now  by  the  very  measure  of  agony  which  the  thought  of  that 
horror  caused  me.  The  distance  from  the  Trois  Rois  to  the 
house  was  barely  four  hundred  yards,  but  it  seemed  infinite  to 
me.  It  seemed  an  age  before  I  stopped,  breathless  and  panting, 
on  the  verge  of  the  crowd,  and  strove  to  see,  across  the  plain  of 
heads,  what  was  happening  in  front. 

A  moment,  and  I  made  out  enough  to  relieve  me,  and  I 
breathed  more  freely.  The  crowd  had  not  yet  won  its  will.  It 
filled  the  street  on  either  side  of  the  St.  Alais  house  from  wall 
to  wall ;  but  in  front  of  the  house  itself  a  space  was  still  kept 
clear  by  the  fire  of  those  within.  Now  and  again  a  man  or  a 
knot  of  men  would  spring  out  of  the  ranks  of  the  mob,  and, 
darting  across  this  open  space  to  the  door,  would  strive  to  beat 
it  in  with  axes  and  bars,  and  even  with  naked  hands ;  but  al- 
ways there  came  a  puff  of  smoke  from  the  shuttered  and  loop- 
holed  windows,  and  a  second  and  a  third,  and  the  men  fell  back, 
or  sank  down  on  the  stones,  and  lay  bleeding  in  the  sunshine. 

It  was  a  terrible  sight.  The  wild-beast  rage  of  the  mob  as 
they  watched  their  leaders  fall,  yet  dared  not  make  the  rush  en 
masse  which  must  carry  the  place,  was  enough  of  itself  to  ap- 
pall the  stoutest.  But  when  to  this  and  their  fiendish  cries  were 


198  THE    RED    COCKADE 

n<l<led  other  sounds  as  horrid — the  screams  of  the  wounded  and 
the  rattle  of  musketry — for  some  of  the  mob  had  arms,  and 
were  firing  from  neighboring  houses  at  the  St.  Alais  windows — 
the  effect  was  appalling.  I  do  not  know  why,  but  the  sunshine 
and  the  tall  white  houses  which  formed  the  street,  and  the 
very  neatness  of  the  surroundings,  seemed  to  aggravate  the 
bloodshed ;  so  that  for  a  while  the  whole — the  writhing  crowd, 
the  open  space  with  its  wounded,  the  ugly  cries  and  curses 
and  shots — seemed  unreal.  I,  who  had  come  hot-foot  to  risk  all, 
hesitated  ;  if  this  were  Cahors,  if  this  were  the  quiet  town  I  had 
known  all  my  life,  things  had  come  to  a  pass  indeed.  If  not,  I 
was  dreaming. 

But  this  last  was  a  thought  too  wild  to  be  entertained  for 
more  than  a  few  seconds,  and  with  a  groan  I  thrust  myself  into 
the  press,  bent  desperately  on  getting  through  and  reaching  the 
open  space,  though  what  I  should  do  when  I  got  there,  or  how 
I  could  help,  I  had  not  considered.  I  had  scarcely  moved,  how- 
ever, when  I  felt  my  arm  gripped,  and  some  one,  clinging  obsti- 
nately to  me,  held  me  back.  I  turned  to  resent  the  action  with 
a  blow — I  was  beside  myself;  but  the  man  was  Father  Benoit, 
and  mv  hand  fell.  I  caught  hold  of  him  with  a  cry  of  joy,  and 
lie  drew  me  out  of  the  press. 

His  face  was  pale  and  full  of  grief  and  consternation  ;  yet  by 
a  wonderful  chance  I  had  found  him,  and  I  hoped.  "  You  can 
do  something!"  1  cried  in  his  ear,  gripping  his  hand  hard. 
"The  Committee  will  not  act,  and  this  is  murder!  Murder, 
man  !  Do  you  see  ?" 

'•  What  can  I  do?"  he  wailed;  and  he  threw  up  his  other 
hand  with  a  gesture  of  despair. 

"  Speak  to  them." 

"Speak   to  them?"   he    answered.     "Will  mad  dogs  stand 

when  you  speak  to  them?     Or  will  mad  dogs  listen?     How  can 

you  get  to  them  ?     Where  can  you  speak  to  them  ?     It  is  im- 

-ible.     It  is  impossible,  monsieur.     They  would   kill  their 

fathers  to-day  if  they  stood  between  them  and  vengeance." 

"Then,  what  will  you  do?"  I  cried,  passionately.  "What 
will  you  do?" 

He  shook  his  head,  and  I  saw  that  he  meant  nothing — that 


A    LA    LANTERNE  199 

he  could  do  nothing.  And  then  ray  soul  revolted.  "  You 
must !  You  shall  !"  I  cried,  fiercely.  "  You  have  raised  this 
devil,  and  you  must  lay  him  !  Are  these  the  liberties  about 
which  you  have  talked  to  us?  Are  these  the  people  for  whom 
you  have  pleaded  ?  Answer — answer  me,  what  you  will  do  !"  I 
cried.  And  I  shook  him  furiously. 

lie  covered  his  face  with  his  hand.  "  God  forgive  us !"  he 
said.  "God  help  us!" 

I  looked  at  him  for  the  first  and  only  time  in  my  life  with 
contempt — with  rage.  "  God  help  you  ?"  I  cried — I  was  beside 
myself.  "God  helps  those  who  help  themselves!  You  have 
brought  this  about !  You  !  You  !  You  have  preached  this  ! 
Now  mend  it !" 

He  trembled,  and  was  silent.  Unsupported  by  the  passion 
which  animated  me,  in  face  of  the  brute  rage  of  the  people,  his 
courage  sank. 

"  Now  mend  it !"  I  repeated,  furiously. 

"  I  cannot  get  to  them,"  he  muttered. 

"  Then  I  will  make  a  way  for  you  !"  I  answered,  madly,  reck- 
lessly. "  Follow  me !  Do  you  hear  that  noise  ?  Well,  we 
will  play  a  part  in  it !" 

A  dozen  guns  had  gone  off,  almost  in  a  volley.  We  could 
not  see  the  result,  nor  what  was  passing*,  but  the  hoarse  roar  of 
the  mob  intoxicated  me.  I  cried  to  him  to  follow,  and  rushed 
into  the  press. 

Again  he  caught  and  stayed  me,  clinging  to  me  with  a  stub- 
bornness which  would  not  be  denied.  "  If  you  will  go,  go  through 
the  houses!.  Go  through  the  opposite  houses!"  he  muttered  in 
my  ear. 

I  had  sense  enough,  when  he  had  spoken  twice,  to  under 
stand  him  and  comply.  I  let  him  lead  rne  aside,  and  in  a  mo- 
ment we  were  out  of  the  press,  and  hurrying  through  an  alley  at 
the  back  of  the  houses  that  faced  the  St.  Alais  mansion.  We 
were  not  the  first  to  go  that  way  ;  some  of  the  more  active  of 
the  rioters  had  caught  the  idea  before  us,  and  gone  by  this  path 
to  the  windows,  whence  they  were  firing.  We  found  two  or 
three  of  the  doors  open,  therefore,  and  heard  the  excited  cries 
and  curses  of  the  men  who  had  taken  possession.  However, 


200  THE     RKI)     COCK  A  UK 

we  did  not  go  far.  I  chose  the  first  door,  and,  passing  <]nickly 
by  a  huddled,  panic-stricken  group  of  women  and  children — 
probably  the  occupants  of  the  house — who  were  clustered  about 
it,  I  went  straight  through  to  the  street  door. 

Two  or  three  rutlianly  mm  with  smoke-grimed  f.-n-es  w.Te 
tiring  through  ;i  window  on  the  ground-floor,  and  one  of  t: 
looking  behind  him  as  I  passed,  saw  me.  He  called  to  me  to 
stop,  adding  with  an  oath  that  if  I  went  into  the  street  I  should 
be  shot  by  the  aristocrats.  But  in  my  excitement  I  took  no 
heed  ;  in  a  second  I  had  the  door  open,  and  was  standing  in  the 
street — alone  in  the  sunny,  cleared  space.  On  cither  side  of 
me,  fifty  paces  distant,  were  the  close  ranks  of  the  mob ;  in 
front  of  me  rose  the  white,  blind  face  of  the  St.  Alais  house, 
from  which,  even  as  I  appeared,  there  came  a  little  spit  of  smoke 
am!  the  bang  of  a  musket. 

The  crowd,  astonished  to  see  me  there  alone  and  standing 
still,  fell  silent,  and  I  held  up  my  hand.  A  gun  went  off  al>o\,- 
my  head,  and  another,  and  a  splinter  flew  from  one  of  tin- 
green  shutters  opposite.  Then  a  voice  from  the  crowd  cried 
out  to  cease  firing,  and  for  a  moment  all  was  still.  I  stood  in 
the  midst  of  a  hot,  breathless  hush,  my  hand  raised.  It  was 
my  opportunity — I  had  got  it  by  a  miracle ;  but  for  a  moment 
I  was  silent,  I  could  find  no  words. 

At  last,  as  a  low  murmur  began  to  make  itself  heard,  I  spoke. 
'•Men  of  Cahors  !"  I  cried.  "In  the  name  of  the  trirolor, 
stand  !" 

And  trembling  with  agitation,  acting  on  the  impulse  of  the 
instant,  I  walked  slowly  across  the  street  to  the  door  of  the  !•<•- 

_ed  house,  and,  under  the  eyes  of  all,  I  took  the  tricolor  fr. .HI 
niv  bosom,  and  hung  it  on  the  knocker  of  the  door.  Then  I 
turned.  "  I  take  possession,"  I  cried,  hoarsely,  at  the  top  of 
niv  voice,  that  all  might  hear — "  I  take  possession  of  this  house 
and  all  that  are  in  it  in  the  name  of  the  Tricolor  and  the  Nation 
and  the  Committee  of  Cahors.  Those  within  shall  be  tried  and 
justice  done  upon  them.  But  for  you,  I  call  upon  you  to  «!«•- 
part  and  go  to  your  homes  in  peace,  and  the  Committee — " 

I  got  no  further.  With  the  word  a  shot  whizzed  by  m\  ear 
and  struck  the  plaster  from  the  wall ;  and  then,  as  if  the  sound 


"  '  I   TAKE    POSSESSION  !'  I   CRIED,  HOARSELY  " 


A    LA    LAXTEKXE  203 

released  all  the  passions  of  the  people,  a  roar  of  indignation 
shook  the  air.  They  hissed  and  swore  at  me,  yelled  "A  la 
lanterne  !"  and  "  A  bas  le  traitre  !"  and  in  an  instant  burst  their 
bounds.  As  if  invisible  floodgates  gave  way,  the  mob  on  either 
side  rushed  suddenly  forward,  and,  rolling  towards  the  door  in 
a  solid  mass,  were  in  an  instant  upon  me. 

I  expected  that  I  should  be  torn  to  pieces,  but  instead  I  was 
only  buffeted  and  flung  aside  and  forgotten,  and  in  a  moment 
was  lost  in  the  struggling,  writhing  mass  of  men,  who  flung 
themselves  pell-mell  upon  the  door,  and  fell  over  one  another, 
and  wounded  one  another  in  the  fury  with  which  they  attacked 
it.  Men,  injured  earlier,  were  trodden  under  foot  now  ;  but  no 
one  stayed  for  their  cries.  Twice  a  gun  was  fired  from  the 
house,  and  each  shot  took  effect ;  but  the  press  was  so  great, 
and  the  fury  of  the  assailants  as  they  swarmed  about  the  door 
so  blind,  that  those  who  were  hit  sank  down  unobserved,  and 
perished  under  their  comrades'  feet. 

Thrust  against  the  iron  railings  that  flanked  the  door,  I  clung 
to  them,  and,  protected  from  the  pressure  by  a  pillar  of  the 
porch,  managed  with  some  difficulty  to  keep  my  place.  I  could 
not  move,  however ;  I  had  to  stand  where  I  was  while  the 
crowd  swayed  round  me,  and  I  waited  in  dizzy,  sickening  horror 
for  the  crisis.  It  came  at  last.  The  panels  of  the  door,  riven  and 
shattered,  gave  way ;  the  foremost  assailants  sprang  at  the  gap. 
Yet  still  the  frame,  held  by  one  hinge,  stood,  and  kept  them 
out.  As  that  yielded  at  length  under  their  blows,  and  the 
door  fell  inward  with  a  crash,  I  flung  myself  into  the  stream, 
and  was  carried  into  the  house  among  the  foremost,  fortunately 
— for  several  fell — on  my  feet. 

I  had  the  thought  that  I  might  outpace  the  others,  and, 
getting  first  to  the  rooms  up-stairs,  might  at  least  fight  for 
mademoiselle  if  I  could  not  save  her.  For  I  had  caught  the  in- 
fection of  the  mob ;  my  blood  was  on  fire.  There  was  no  one 
in  all  the  crowd  more  set  to  kill  than  I  was.  I  raced  in,  there- 
fore, with  the  rest ;  but  when  I  reached  the  foot  of  the  stairs  I 
saw,  and  they  saw,  that  which  stopped  us  all. 

It  was  M.  de  Gontaut,  lifted  in  that  moment  of  extreme 
danger  above  himself.  He  stood  alone  on  the  stairs,  looking 


•_'"1  THE  RED  COCKADE 

down  on  the  invaders  and  smiling  —  smiling,  with  everything 
ility  and  frivolity  gone  from  his  face,  and  only  the  cour- 
age of  iiis  caste  left.  He  saw  his  world  tottering,  the  scum 
and  raliblo  overwhelming  it,  everything  which  he  had  loved  and 
in  which  he  had  lived  passing.  lie  saw  death  waiting  for  him 
seven  steps  below,  and  he  smiled.  With  his  slender  sword 
hanging  at  his  wrist,  he  tapped  his  snuffbox  and  looked  down 
:  no  longer  garrulous,  feeble,  almost — with  his  stories  of 
stale  intrigues  and  his  pagan  creed  —  contemptible,  but  steady 
ami  proud,  with  eyes  that  gleamed  with  defiance. 

"  Well,  dogs,"  he  said,  "will  you  earn  the  gallows?" 

Fora  second  no  one  moved.  For  a  second  the  old  noble's  pres- 
ence and  fearlessness  imposed  on  the  vilest ;  and  they  stared  at 
him,  cowed  by  his  eye.  Then  he  stirred.  With  a  quiet 
nrc.  as  of  a  man  saluting  before  a  duel,  he  caught  up  the  hilt  of 
his  sword  and  presented  the  lowered  point.  "Well,"  he  said, 
with  bitter  scorn  in  his  tone,  "you  have  come  to  do  it.  Which 
of  you  will  go  to  hell  for  the  rest?  For  I  shall  take  one." 

That  broke  the  spell.  With  a  howl  a  dozen  ruffians  sprang 
up  the  stairs.  I  saw  the  bright  steel  flash  once,  twice  ;  and  one 
reeled  back,  and  rolled  down  under  his  fellows'  feet.  Then  a 
!>ar  swept  up  and  fell  on  the  smiling  face,  and  the  old 
noble  dropped  without  a  cry  or  a  groan  under  a  storm  of  blows 
that  in  a  moment  beat  the  life  out  of  his  body. 

It  was  over  in  a  moment,  and  before  I  could  interfere.  The 
i  score  of  men  leaped  over  the  corpse  and  up  the  stairs 
with  horrid  cries — I  after  them.  To  the  right  and  left  were 
locked  doors,  with  panels  Wattcau-painted  ;  they  dashed  these 
in  with  brutal  shouts,  and  in  a  twinkling  Hooded  the  splendid 
rooms,  sweeping  away  and  breaking,  and  Hinging  down  in  wan- 
ton mischief,  everything  that  came  to  hand — vases,  statues,  glass- 
es, miniatures.  With  shrieks  of  triumph  they  filled  the  salon  that 
had  known  for  generations  only  the  graces  and  beauty  of  life, 
and  clattered  over  the  shininir  parquets  that  had  been  swept  so 
Ion;;  by  the  skirts  of  fair  women.  Kvervthing  they  could  not 
understand  was  snatched  up  and  dashed  down  ;  in  a  moment 
the  m-eat  Venetian  mirrors  were  shattered,  the  pictures  pierced 
and  torn,  the  books  flunu'  through  the.  windows  into  the  it 


"  '  WHICH   OF   YOU    WILL   GO   TO   HELL   FOR   TUK    RKST  ?'  " 


A    LA    LANTERNE  207 

I  had  a  glimpse  of  the  scene  as  I  paused  on  the  landing.  But 
a  glance  sufficed  to  convince  me  that  the  fugitives  were  not  in 
these  rooms,  and  1  sprang  on  and  up  the  next  flight.  Here, 
short  as  had  been  my  delay,  I  found  others  before  me.  As  I 
turned  the  corner  of  the  stairs  I  came  on  three  men  listening 
at  a  door;  before  I  could  reach  them  one  rose.  "Here  they 
are  !"  he  cried.  "  That  is  a  woman's  voice  !  Stand  back  !" 
And  he  lifted  a  crowbar  to  beat  in  the  door. 

"  Hold  !"  I  cried,  in  a  voice  that  shook  him  and  made  him 
lower  his  weapon.  "  Hold  !  In  the  name  of  the  Committee  I 
command  you  to  leave  that  door !  The  rest  of  the  house  is 
yours.  Go  and  plunder  it." 

The  men  glared  at  me.  "  Sacre  venire  f"  one  of  them  hissed. 
"  Who  are  you  ?" 

"  The  Committee  !"  I  answered. 

He  cursed  me,  and  raised  his  hand.  "Stand  back  !"  I  cried, 
furiously,  "or  you  shall  hang!'; 

"  Ho  !  ho  !  An  aristocrat !"  he  retorted,  and  he  raised  his 
voice.  "  This  way,  friends,  this  way  !  An  aristocrat !  An 
aristocrat !"  he  cried. 

At  the  word  a  score  of  his  fellows  came  swarming  up  the 
stairs.  I  saw  myself  in  an  instant  surrounded  by  grimy,  pocked 
faces  and  scowling  eyes — by  haggard  creatures  sprung  from  the 
sewers  of  the  town.  Another  second  and  they  would  have  laid 
hands  on  me;  but,  desperate  and  full  of  rage,  I  rushed  instead 
on  the  man  with  the  bar,  and,  snatching  it  from  him  before  he 
guessed  my  intention,  in  a  twinkling  laid  him  at  my  feet. 

In  the  act,  however,  I  lost  my  balance  and  stumbled.  Before 
I  could  recover  myself  one  of  his  comrades  struck  me  on  the 
head  with  his  wooden  shoe.  The  blow  partially  stunned  me ; 
still,  I  got  to  my  feet  again  and  hit  out  wildly,  and  drove  them 
back,  and  for  a  moment  cleared  the  landing  round  me.  But  I 
was  dizzy  ;  I  saw  all  now  through  a  red  haze  ;  the  figures  danced 
before  me  ;  I  could  no  longer  think  or  aim,  but  only  hear  taunts 
and  jeers  on  every  side.  Some  one  plucked  my  coat.  I  turned 
blindly.  In  a  moment  another  struck  me  a  crushing  blow — 
hcrw  or  with  what  I  never  knew  —  and  I  fell  senseless  and  as 
good  as  dead. 


CHAPTER    XIV 
IT   GOES    ILL 

IT  was  August,  and  the  leaves  of  the  chestnuts  were  still 
green,  when  they  sacked  the  St.  Alais  house  at  Cahors  and  I 
fell  senseless  on  the  stairs.  The  ash-trees  were  bare  and  the 
oaks  clad  only  in  russet  when  I  hegan  to  know  things  again, 
and,  looking  sidcwavs  from  my  pillow  into  the  gray  autumnal 
world,  took  up  afresh  the  task  of  living.  Even  then  many  days 
had  to  elapse  before  I  ceased  to  be  merely  an  animal  —  con- 
tent to  eat  and  drink  and  sleep,  and  take  Father  Benoit  kneel- 
ing by  my  bed  for  one  of  the  permanent  facts  of  life.  But  the 
time  did  come  at  last,  in  late  November,  when  the  mind  awoke, 
as  those  who  watched  by  mo  had  never  thought  to  see  it  awake  ; 
and,  meeting  the  curb's  eyes  with  my  eyes,  I  saw  him  turn 
away  and  break  into  joyful  weeping. 

A  week  from  that  time  I  knew  all — the  story,  public  and  pri- 
vate, of  that  wonderful  autumn  during  which  I  had  lain  like  a 
log  in  my  bed.  At  first,  avoiding  topics  that  touched  me  too 
nearly,  Father  Benoit  told  me  of  Paris — of  the  ten  weeks  of 
suspicion  and  suspense  which  followed  the  Bastille  riots,  \\ 
during  which  the  faubourgs,  scantly  checked  by  Lafayette  and 
his  National  Guards,  kept  jealous  watch  on  Versailles,  win-re 
the  Assembly  sat  in  attendance  on  the  King;  of  the  scarcity 
which  prevailed  through  this  trying  time,  and  the  constant 
rumors  of  an  attack  by  the  court  ;  of  the  Queen's  unfortunate 
banquet,  which  proved  to  be  the  spark  that  tired  the  mine  ;  last 
of  all,  of  the  great  march  of  the  women  to  Versailles  on  the  oth 
of  October,  which,  by  forcing  the  King  and  the  Assembly  to 
Paris  and  making  the  King  a  prisoner  in  his  own  palace,  put  an 
end  to  this  period  of  uncertainty. 


IT    GOES    ILL  209 

"  And  since  then  ?"  I  said,  in  feeble  amazement.  "  This  is  the 
20th  of  November,  you  tell  me  ?" 

"  Nothing  has  happened,"  he  answered,  "  except  signs  and 
symptoms."' 

"  And  those  ?" 

He  shook  his  head  gravely.  "  Every  one  is  enrolled  in  the 
National  Guards — that,  for  one.  Here,  in  Quercy,  the  corps, 
which  M.  Hugnes  took  it  in  hand  to  form,  numbers  some  thou- 
sands. Every  one  is  armed,  therefore.  Then,  the  game  laws 
being  abolished,  every  one  is  a  sportsman.  And  so  many  no- 
bles have  emigrated  that  either  there  are  no  nobles  or  all  are 
nobles." 

"But  who  governs?" 

"  The  municipalities.    Or,  where  there  are  none,  Committees." 

I  could  not  help  smiling.  "  And  your  Committee,  M.  le 
Cure  ?"  I  said. 

"  I  do  not  attend  it,"  he  answered,  wincing  visibly.  "  To  be 
plain,  they  go  too  fast  for  me.  But  I  have  worse  yet  to  tell 
you  !" 

"  What  ?" 

"  On  the  4th  of  August  the  Assembly  abolished  the  tithes  of 
the  Church  ;  early  in  this  month  they  proposed  to  confiscate 
the  estates  of  the  Church !  By  this  time  it  is  probably  done." 

"  What !  And  the  clergy  are  to  starve  ?"  I  cried,  in  indigna- 
tion. 

"  Not  quite,"  he  answered,  smiling  sadly.  "  They  are  to  be 
paid  by  the  state — as  long  as  they  please  the  state !" 

He  went  soon  after  he  had  told  me  that ;  and  I  lay  in  amaze- 
ment, looking  through  the  window,  and  striving  to  picture  the 
changed  world  that  existed  round  me.  Presently  Andre  came 
in  with  my  broth.  I  thought  it  weak,  and  said  so ;  the  strong 
gust  of  outside  life  which  the  news  had  brought  into  my  cham- 
ber had  roused  my  appetite,  and  given  me  a  distaste  for  tisanes 
and  slops. 

But  the  old  fellow  took  the  complaint  very  ill.  "  Well,"  he 
grumbled,  "  and  what  else  is  to  be  expected,  monsieur  2  With 
little  rent  paid,  and  half  the  pigeons  in  the  cot  slaughtered,  and 
scarcely  a  hare  left  in  the  countryside  ?  WTith  all  the  world 


210  THE    HED    COCKADE 

shooting  and  snaring,  and  smiths  and  tailors  cocked  up  on 
horses — aye,  and  with  swords  l>y  their  sides — and  the  ^entrv 
gone,  or  hiding  their  heads  in  bed,  it  is  a  small  tiling  if  the 
broth  is  weak!  If  M.  le  Vicomte  liked  strong  broth,  lie  should 
have  been  wise  enough  to  keep  the  cow  himself,  and  not — 

"  Tut,  tut,  man  !"  I  said,  wincing  in  my  turn.  "  What  of 
Baton  r 

"  Monsieur  means  M.  le  Capitaine  Buton  ?"  the  old  man  an- 
swered, with  a  sneer.  "  He  is  at  Cahors." 

"And  was  any  one  punished  for — for  the  affair  at  St.  Alais  f 

••  No  one  is  punished  nowadays,"  Andre  replied,  tartly. 
"  Except  sometimes  a  miller,  who  is  hung  because  corn  is  dear." 

"  Then  even  Petit  Jean—" 

"  Petit  Jean  went  to  Paris.  Doubtless  he  is  now  a  major  or 
a  colonel." 

With  this  shot  the  old  man  left  me — left  me  writhing.  For 
through  all  I  had  not  dared  to  ask  the  one  thing  I  wished  to 
know  ;  the  one  thing  that,  as  my  strength  increased,  had  grown 
with  it,  from  a  vague  apprehension  of  evil,  which  the  mind, 
when  bidden  to  do  its  duty,  failed  to  grasp,  to  a  dreadful  anxiety 
only  too  well  understood  and  defined  —  a  brooding  fear  that 
weighed  upon  me  like  an  evil  dream,  and,  in  spite  of  youth, 
sapped  my  life  and  retarded  my  recovery. 

I  have  read  that  a  fever  sometimes  burns  out  love,  and  that 
a  man  rises  cured  not  only  of  his  illness,  but  of  the  | 
which  consumed  him  when  he  succumbed  to  it.  But  this  was 
not  my  fate;  from  the  moment  when  that  dull  anxiety  about  I 
knew  not  what  took  shape  and  form,  and  I  saw  on  the  ^ivi'i: 
curtains  of  my  bed  a  pale  child's  face — a  face  that  now  \ve]>t 
and  now  gazed  at  me  in  sad  appeal — from  that  moment  made- 
moiselle was  never  out  of  my  waking  mind  for  an  hour.  God 
knows  if  any  thought  of  me  on  her  part,  if  any  silent,  cry  of 
her  heart  to  me  in  her  troubles,  had  to  do  with  this  ;  but  it  \\as 
the  case. 

However,  on  the  next  day  the  fear  and  the  weight  were  re- 
moved. I  suppose  that  Father  Benoit  had  made  up  his  mind 
to  broach  the  subject,  which  hitherto  he  had  shunned  with 
care ;  for  his  first  question,  after  he  had  learned  how  I  did, 


"ANDRE  CAME  IN  WITH  MY  BROTH" 


IT    GOES    ILL  213 

brought  it  up.  "  You  have  never  asked  what  happened  after 
you  were  injured,  M.  le  Vicomte  ?"  he  said,  with  a  little  hesita- 
tion. "  Do  you  remember  ?" 

"  I  remember  all,"  I  said,  with  a  groan. 

lie  drew  a  breath  of  relief.  I  think  he  had  feared  that  there 
was  still  something  amiss  with  the  brain.  "  And  yet  you  have 
never  asked  ?"  he  said. 

"  Man  !  Cannot  you  understand  why — why  I  have  not  asked  ?" 
I  cried,  hoarsely,  rising,  and  sinking  back  in  my  seat  in  uncon- 
trollable agitation.  "  Cannot  you  understand  that  until  I  asked 
I  had  hope?  But  now — torture  me  no  longer!  Tell  me,  tell 
me  all,  man,  and  then — " 

"  There  is  nothing  but  good  to  tell,"  he  answered,  cheer- 
fully, endeavoring  to  dispel  my  fears  at  the  first  word.  "  You 
know  the  worst.  Poor  M.  do  Gontaut  was  killed  on  the  stairs. 
He  was  too  infirm  to  flee.  The  rest,  to  the  meanest  servant, 
got  away  over  the  roofs  of  the  neighboring  houses." 

"  And  escaped  ?" 

"  Yes.  The  town  was  in  an  uproar  for  many  hours,  but 
they  were  well  hidden.  I  believe  that  they  have  left  the 
country." 

"  You  do  not  know  where  they  are,  then  ?" 

"  No,"  he  answered;  "  I  never  saw  any  of  them  after  the  out- 
break. But  I  heard  of  them  being  in  this  or  that  chateau — 
at  the  Ilarincourts',  and  elsewhere.  Then  the  Harincourts  left 
— about  the  middle  of  October  —  and  1  think  that  M.  de  St. 
Alais  and  his  family  went  with  them." 

I  lay  for  a  while  too  full  of  thankfulness  to  speak.  Then, 
"  And  you  know  nothing  more  ?" 

"  Nothing,"  the  cure  answered. 

But  that  was  enough  for  me.  When  he  came  again  I  was 
able  to  walk  with  him  on  the  terrace,  and  after  that  I  gained 
strength  rapidly.  I  remarked,  however,  that  as  my  spirits  rose, 
with  air  and  exercise,  the  good  priest's  declined.  His  kind, 
sensitive  face  grew  day  by  day  more  sombre,  his  fits  of  silence 
longer.  When  I  asked  him  the  reason,  "  It  goes  ill,  it  goes 
ill,"  he  said.  "  And,  God  forgive  me,  I  had  to  do  with  it !" 

"  Who  had  not  ?"  I  said,  soberly. 


214  f      THE    RED    COCKADE 

"But  I  should  have  foreseen!"  he  answered,  wrin^in^  his 
liands  openly.  "I  should  have  known  that  (Jod's  first  gift  to 
man  was  Order,  Order,  and  to-day  in  Cahors  there  is  no  tri- 
bunal, or  none  that  acts  ;  the  old  magistrates  are  afraid,  and  the 
old  laws  are  spurned,  and  no  man  can  ever  recover  a  debt ! 
Order,  and  the  worst  thing  a  criminal  thrown  into  prison  has 
now  to  fear  is  that  he  may  be  forgotten.  Order,  and  I  see 
arms  everywhere,  and  men  who  cannot  read  teaching  those  who 
can,  and  men  who  pay  no  taxes  disposing  of  the  money  of 
those  who  do  !  I  see  famine  in  the  town,  and  the  farmers  and 
the  peasants  killing  game  or  folding  their  hands;  for  who  will 
work  when  the  future  is  uncertain  ?  I  see  the  houses  of  the 
rich  empty,  and  their  servants  starving ;  I  see  all  trade,  all 
commerce,  all  buying  and  selling,  except  of  the  barest  neces- 
saries, at  an  end !  I  see  all  these  things,  M.  le  Vicomte,  and 
shall  I  not  say,  '  Mea  culpa,  mea  culpa'?" 

"  But  liberty,"  I  said,  feebly.  "  You  once  said  yourself  that 
a  certain  price  must — " 

"  Is  liberty  license  to  do  wrong  ?"  he  answered,  with  passion — 
seldom  had  I  seen  him  so  moved.  "  Is  liberty  license  to  rob 
and  blaspheme,  and  move  your  neighbor's  landmark?  Does 
tyranny  cease  to  be  tyranny  when  the  tyrants  are  no  longer 
one,  but  a  thousand  ?  M.  le  Vicomte,  I  know  not  what  to 
do — I  know  not  what  to  do,"  he  continued.  "  For  a  little  I 
would  go  out  into  the  world,  and  at  all  costs  unsay  what  I 
have  said,  undo  what  I  have  done  !  I  would  !  I  would  indeed  !" 

"  Something  more  has  happened  ?"  I  said,  startled  by  this 
outbreak.  "  Something  I  have  not  heard  ?" 

"  The  Assembly  took  away  our  tithes  and  our  estates !"  he 
answered,  bitterly.  "That  you  know.  They  denied  our  exist- 
ence as  a  Church.  That  you  know.  They  have  now  decreed 
tlic  suppression  of  all  religious  houses.  Presently  tlu-y  will 
close  also  our  churches  and  cathedrals.  And  we  shall  be 
pagans !" 

••  Impossible  !"  I  said. 

"  But  it  is  true." 

"The  suppression,  yes.  But  for  the  churches  and  cathe- 
drals—" 


IT    GOES    ILL  215 

"  Why  not  ?"  he  answered,  despondently.  "  God  knows  there 
is  little  faith  abroad.  I  fear  it  will  come.  I  see  it  coining. 
The  greater  need  that  we  who  believe  should  testify." 

I  did  not  quite  understand  at  the  time  what  he  meant,  or 
would  be  at,  or  what  he  had  in  his  mind ;  but  I  saw  that  his 
scrupulous  nature  was  tormented  by  the  thought  that  he  had 
hastened  the  catastrophe ;  and  I  felt  uneasy  when  he  did  not 
appear  next  day  at  his  usual  time  for  visiting  me.  On  the 
following  day  he  came ;  but  was  downcast  and  taciturn,  tak- 
ing leave  of  me  when  he  went  with  a  sad  kindness  that  almost 
made  me  call  him  back.  The  next  day  again  he  did  not 
appear ;  nor  the  day  after  that.  Then  I  sent  for  him,  but  too 
late ;  I  sent,  only  to  learn  from  his  old  .^use  -  keeper  that 
he  had  left  home  suddenly,  after  arranging  with  a  neighboring 
cure  to  have  his  duties  performed  for  a  month. 

I  was  able  by  this  time  to  go  abroad  a  little,  and  I  walked 
down  to  his  cottage ;  I  could  learn  no  more  there,  however, 
than  that  a  Capuchin  monk  had  been  his  guest  for  two  nights, 
and  that  M.  le  Cure  had  left  for  Cahors  a  few  hours  after  the 
monk.  That  was  all;  I  returned  depressed  and  dissatisfied. 
Such  villagers  as  I  met  by  the  way  greeted  me  with  respect, 
and  even  with  sympathy — it  was  the  first  time  I  had  gone  into 
the  hamlet ;  but  the  shadow  of  suspicion  which  I  had  detected 
on  their  faces  some  months  before  had  grown  deeper  and  darker 
with  time.  They  no  longer  knew  with  certainty  their  places 
or  mine,  their  rights  or  mine ;  and,  shy  of  me  and  doubtful 
of  themselves,  were  glad  to  part  from  me. 

Near  the  gates  of  the  avenue  I  met  a  man  whom  I  knew — 
a  wine-dealer  from  Aulnay.  I  stayed  to  ask  him  if  the  family 
were  at  home. 

He  looked  at  me  in  surprise.  "M.  le  Vicomte,"  he  said, 
"they  left  the  country  some  weeks  ago  —  after  the  King  was 
persuaded  to  go  to  Paris." 

"  And  M.  le  Baron  ?" 

"He  too." 

"  For  Paris  ?" 

The  man,  a  respectable  bourgeois,  grinned  at  me.  "  No, 
monsieur,  I  fancy  not,"  he  said.  "  You  know  best,  M.  le 


216  THE    RED    COCKADE 

Vicomte ;  but  if  I  said  Turirt,  I  doubt  I  should  be  little 
out." 

"  I  have  been  ill,"  I  said,  "  and  have  heard  nothing." 

"  You  should  go  into  Cabors,"  he  answered,  with  rough  good- 
nature. "  Most  of  the  gentry  are  there — if  they  have  not  gone 
farther.  It  is  safer  than  the  country  in  these  days.  Ah,  if  my 
father  had  lived  to  see — " 

He  did  not  finish  the  sentence  in  words,  but  raised  his  eye- 
brows and  shoulders,  saluted  me,  and  rode  away.  In  spite  of 
his  surprise,  it  was  easy  to  see  that  the  change  pleased  him, 
though  he  veiled  his  satisfaction  out  of  civility. 

I  walked  home,  feeling  lonely  and  depressed.  The  tall  stone 
house,  the  seigneurial  tower  and  turret  and  dove-cot,  stripped 
of  the  veil  of  foliage  that  in  summer  softened  their  outlines, 
stood  up  bare  and  gaunt  at  the  end  of  the  avenue,  and  seemed 
in  some  strange  way  to  share  my  loneliness,  and  to  speak  to 
me  of  evil  days  on  which  we  had  alike  fallen.  In  losing  Father 
Benoit  I  had  lost  my  only  chance  of  society  just  when,  with 
returning  strength,  the  desire  for  companionship  and  a  more 
active  life  was  awakening.  I  thought  of  this  gloomily ;  and 
then  was  delighted  to  see,  as  I  approached  the  door,  a  horse 
tethered  to  the  ring  beside  it.  There  were  holsters  on  the 
saddle,  and  the  girths  were  splashed. 

Andre  was  in  the  hall,  but,  to  my  surprise,  instead  of  inform- 
ing me  that  there  was  a  visitor,  he  went  on  dusting  a  table, 
with  his  back  to  me. 

-  Who  is  here  ?"  I  said,  sharply. 

"  No  one,"  he  answered. 

"  No  one  ?    Then  whose  is  that  horse  ?" 

"Tin-  smith's,  monsieur." 

"What?     Buton's?" 

••  Aye,  Buton's!  It  is  a  new  thing  hanging  it  at  the  front 
door,"  he  added,  with  a  sneer. 

"  But  what  is  he  doing  ?     Where  is  he  ?" 

"  He  is  where  he  ought  to  be,  and  that  is  at  the  stables," 
the  old  fellow  answered,  doggedly.  "  I'll  be  bound  that  it  is 
the  first  piece  of  honest  work  he  has  done  for  many  a  dav." 

"Is  he  shying!" 


IT    GOES    ILL  217 

"Why  not?  Does  monsieur  want  him  to  dine  with  him?" 
was  the  ill-tempered  retort. 

I  took  no  notice  of  this,  but  went  to  the  stables.  I  could 
hear  the  bellows  heaving,  and  turning  the  corner  of  the  build- 
ing I  came  on  Buton  at  work  in  the  forge  with  two  of  his 
men.  The  smith  was  stripped  to  his  shirt,  and,  with  his  great 
leathern  apron  round  him  and  his  bare,  blackened  arms,  looked 
like  the  Buton  of  six  months  ago.  But  outside  the  forge  lay 
a  little  heap  of  clothes  neatly  folded — a  blue  coat  with  red 
facings,  a  long,  blue  waistcoat,  and  a  hat  with  a  huge  tricolor ; 
and  as  he  released  the  horse's  hoof  on  which  he  was  at  work, 
and  straightened  himself  to  salute  me,  he  looked  at  me  with 
a  new  look  that  was  something  between  appeal  and  defiance. 

"  Tut,  tut !"  I  said,  fleering  at  him.  "  This  is  too  great  an 
honor,  M.  le  Capitainel  To  be  shod  by  a  member  of  the  Com- 
mittee !" 

"Has  M.  le  Vicornte  anything  of  which  to  complain?"  he 
said,  reddening  under  the  deep  tan  of  his  face. 

"I?  No,  indeed.  I  am  only  overwhelmed  by  the  honor  you 
do  me." 

"  I  have  been  here  to  shoe  once  a  month,"  he  persisted, 
stubbornly.  "  Does  monsieur  complain  that  the  horses  have 
suffered  ?" 

"  No.     But—" 

"  Has  M.  le  Vicomte's  house  suffered  ?  Has  so  much  as  a 
stack  of  his  corn  been  burned,  or  a  colt  taken  from  the  fields, 
or  an  egg  from  the  nest  ?" 

"  No,'1  I  said. 

Buton  nodded  gloomily.  "  Then  if  monsieur  has  no  fault  to 
find,"  he  replied,  "  perhaps  he  will  let  me  finish  my  work. 
Afterwards  I  will  deliver  a  message  I  have  for  him.  But  it  is 
for  his  ear,  and  the  forge — " 

"  Is  not  the  place  for  secrets,  though  the  smith  is  the  man !" 
I  answered,  with  a  parting  gibe  fired  over  my  shoulder.  "  Well, 
come  to  me  on  the  terrace  when  you  have  finished." 

He  came  an  hour  later,  looking  hugely  clumsy  in  his  fine 
clothes,  and  with  a  sword  —  Heaven  save  us! — a  sword  by  his 
side.  Presently  the  murder  came  out :  he  was  the  bearer  of  a 


218  THE    RED    COCKADK 

commission  appointing  me  Lieutenant-Colonel  in  the  National 
Guard  of  the  Province.  "It  was  given  at  my  request,"  he  said, 
with  awkward  pride.  "There  were  some,  M.  le  Vicomte,  who 
thought  that  you  had  not  behaved  altogether  well  in  the  matter 
of  the  riot,  but  I  rattled  their  heads  together.  Bc-i •  !•  B,  I  >aid, 
'No  lieutenant-colonel,  no  captain  !'  and  they  cannot  do  without 
me.  I  keep  this  side  quiet." 

What  a  position  it  was !  Oh,  what  a  position  it  was  !  And 
how  for  a  moment  the  absurdity  of  it  warred  in  my  mind  with 
the  humiliation  !  Six  months  before  I  should  have  torn  up  the 
paper  in  a  fury,  and  flung  it  in  his  face,  and  beaten  him  out 
of  my  presence  with  my  cane.  But  mucli  had  happened  since 
then  ;  even  the  temptation  to  break  into  laughter,  into  peal 
upon  peal  of  gloomy  merriment,  was  not  now  invincible.  I 
overcame  it  by  an  effort,  partly  out  of  prudence,  partly  from  a 
better  motive — a  sense  of  the  man's  rough  fidelity  amid  cir- 
cumstances and  in  face  of  anomalies  the  most  trying.  I 
thanked  him  instead,  therefore,  though  I  almost  clicked,  and 
I  said  I  would  write  to  the  Committee. 

Still  he  lingered,  rubbing  one  great  foot  against  another ; 
and  I  waited  witli  mock  politeness  to  hear  his  business.  At 
length,  "There  is  another  thing  I  wished  to  say,  M.  le  Yi- 
comte,"  he  growled.  "  M.  le  Cur6  has  left  Saux  ?" 

"Yes?" 

"  Well,  he  is  a  good  man ;  or  he  was  a  good  man,"  he  con- 
tinued, grudgingly.  "  But  he  is  running  into  trouble,  and  y«ti 
wmild  do  well  to  let  him  know  that." 

"  Why  ?"  I  said.     "  Do  you  know  where  he  is  ?" 

"  I  can  guess,"  he  answered.  "And  where  others  are,  too ;  and 
where  there  will  presently  be  trouble.  These  Capuchin  monks 
are  not  about  the  country  for  nothing.  When  the  crows  fly 
ln>inc  there  will  be  trouble.  And  I  do  not  want  him  to  be  in  it." 

"  I  have  not  the  least  idea  where  he  is,"  I  said,  coldly,  "nor 
what  you  mean."  The  smith's  tone  had  changed,  and  grown 
savage  and  ehurlish. 

••  Me  has  gone  to  Nimes,"  he  answered. 

"  To  Nimes !"  I  cried,  in  astonishment.  "  How  do  you  know  ? 
It  is  more  than  I  know." 


"  '  GO  !'    1    SAID.       '  I    HAVE    HEARD    ENOUGH.       BEGONE  !'  " 


IT    GOES    ILL  221 

"  I  do  know,"  he  answered,  "  and  what  is  brewing  there. 
And  so  do  a  great  many  more.  But  this  time  the  St.  Alaises 
and  their  bullies,  M.  le  Vicomte — aye,  they  are  all  there — will 
not  escape  us.  We  will  break  their  necks.  Yes,  M.  le  Vicomte, 
make  no  mistake,"  he  continued,  glaring  at  me,  his  eyes  red 
with  suspicion  and  anger.  "  Mix  yourself  up  with  none  of  this. 
We  are  the  people  !  The  people  !  Woe  to  the  man  or  thing 
that  stands  in  our  way  !" 

"  Go !"  I  said.     "  I  have  heard  enough.     Begone  !" 

He  looked  at  me  a  moment  as  if  he  would  answer  me.  But 
old  habits  overcame  him,  and  with  a  sullen  word  of  farewell  he 
turned  and  went  round  the  house.  A  minute  later  I  heard  his 
horse  trot  down  the  avenue. 

I  had  cut  him  short ;  nevertheless,  the  instant  he  was  gone  I 
wished  him  back,  that  I  might  ask  him  more.  The  St.  Alaises 
at  Nimes  ?  Father  Benoit  at  Nimes?  Was  a  plot  brewing  there 
in  which  all  had  a  hand  ?  In  a  moment  the  news  opened  a 
window,  as  it  were,  into  a  wider  world,  through  which  I  looked, 
and  no  longer  felt  myself  shut  in  by  the  lonely  country  round 
me  and  the  lack  of  society.  I  looked,  and  saw  the  great  white, 
dusty  city  of  the  south,  and  trouble  rising  in  it,  and  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  trouble,  looking  at  me  wistfully,  Denise  de  St.  Alais. 

Father  Benoit  had  gone  thither.     Why  might  not  I  ? 

I  walked  up  and  down  in  a  flutter  of  spirits,  and  the  longer  I 
considered  it  the  more  I  liked  it ;  the  longer  I  thought  of  the 
dull  inaction  in  which  I  must  spend  my  time  at  home,  unless  I 
consented  to  rub  shoulders  with  Buton  and  his  like,  the  more 
taken  I  was  with  the  idea  of  leaving. 

And,  after  all,  why  not  2     Why  should  I  not  go  ? 

I  had  my  commission  in  ray  pocket,  wherein  I  was  not  only 
appointed  to  the  National  Guard,  but  described  as  ci-devant 
"  President  of  the  Council  of  Public  Safety  in  the  Province  of 
Quercy  ;"  and  this,  taking  the  place  of  papers  or  passport,  would 
render  travelling  easy.  My  long  illness  would  serve  as  an  excuse 
for  a  change  of  air,  and  explain  my  absence  from  home ;  I  had 
in  the  house  as  much  money  as  I  needed.  In  a  word,  I  could 
see  no  difficulty  and  nothing  to  hinder  me  if  I  chose  to  go.  I 
had  only  to  please  myself. 


222  THE    RED    COCKADE 

So  the  choice  was  soon  made.  The  following  day  I  mounted 
a  horse  for  the  first  time,  and  rode  two-thirds  of  a  league  on  the 
road,  and  home  again,  very  tired. 

Next  morning  I  rode  to  St.  Alais,  and  viewed  the  ruins  of  the 
house,  and  returned ;  this  time  I  was  less  fatigued. 

Then,  on  the  following  day,  Sunday,  I  rested;  on  the  Mon- 
day I  rode  half-way  to  Cahors  and  back  again.  That  evening  I 
••leaned  my  pistols  and  overlooked  Gil  while  he  packed  my  sad- 
dle-bags, choosing  two  plain  suits,  one  to  pack  and  one  to  wear, 
and  a  hat  with  a  small  tricolor  rosette.  On  the  following  morn- 
ing, the  6th  of  March,  I  took  the  road  ;  and  parting  from  Andr6 
on  the  outskirts  of  the  village,  turned  my  horse's  head  towards 
Figeac,  with  a  sense  of  freedom,  of  escape  from  difficulties  and 
embarrassments,  of  hope  and  anticipation,  that  made  that  first 
hour  delicious,  and  that  still  supported  me  when  the  March  day 
began  to  give  place  to  the  chill  darkness  of  evening — evening 
that  in  an  unknown,  untried  place  is  always  sombre  and  melan- 
choly. 


CHAPTER  XV 
AT    MILHATT 

I  MET  with  many  strange  things  on  that  journey.  I  found  it 
strange  to  see,  as  I  went,  armed  peasants  in  the  fields  ;  to  light 
in  each  village  on  men  drilling ;  to  enter  inns  and  find  half  a 
dozen  rustics  seated  round  a  table  with  glasses  and  wine,  and 
perhaps  an  inkpot  before  them,  and  to  learn  that  they  called 
themselves  a  Committee.  But  towards  evening  of  the  third 
day  I  saw  a  stranger  thing  than  any  of  these.  I  was  begin- 
ning to  mount  the  valley  of  the  Tarn,  which  runs  up  into  the 
Cevennes  at  Milhau ;  a  north  wind  was  blowing,  the  sky  was 
overcast,  the  landscape  gray  and  bare ;  a  league  before  me 
masses  of  mountain  stood  up  gloomily  blue.  On  a  sudden,  as 
I  walked  wearily  beside  my  horse,  I  heard  voices  singing  in 
chorus,  and  looked  about  me.  The  sound,  clear  and  sweet  as 
fairy's  music,  seemed  to  rise  from  the  earth  at  my  feet. 

A  few  yards  farther,  and  the  mystery  explained  itself.  I 
found  myself  on  the  verge  of  a  little  dip  in  the  ground,  and  saw 
below  me  the  roofs  of  a  hamlet,  and  on  the  hither  side  of  it  a 
crowd  of  a  hundred  or  more  men  and  women.  They  were  dan- 
cing and  singing  round  a  great  tree,  leafless,  but  decked  with 
flags ;  a  few  old  people  sat  about  the  roots  inside  the  circle,  and 
but  for  the  cold  weather  and  the  bleak  outlook  I  might  have 
thought  that  I  had  come  on  a  May-day  festival. 

My  appearance  checked  the  singing  for  a  moment ;  then  two 
elderly  peasants  made  their  way  through  the  ring  and  came  to 
meet  me,  walking  hand  in  hand.  "  Welcome  to  Vlais  and  Gi- 
ron  !"  cried  one.  "  Welcome  to  Girou  and  Vlais !"  cried  the 
other.  And  then,  before  I  could  answer,  "  You  come  on  a  hap- 
py day  !"  cried  both  together. 


224  THE    KEU    COCKV1JK 

I  could  not  help  smiling.  "  I  am  glad  of  that,"  I  said.  "  Mav 
I  ask  what  is  the  reason  of  your  meeting  •" 

"The  communes  of  Giron  and  Vlais,  of  Vlais  ami  <;ir<m," 
they  answered,  speaking  alternately,  "are  to-day  one.  To-day, 
monsieur,  old  boundaries  disappear  ;  old  feuds  die.  The  noble 
heart  of  Giron,  the  noble  heart  of  Vlais,  beat  as  one." 

I  could  scarcely  refrain  from  laughing  at  their  simplicity  ; 
fortunately  at  that  moment  the  circle  round  the  tree  resumed 
their  song  and  dance,  which  had  even  in  that  weather  a  pretty 
effect,  as  of  a  Watteau  fete.  I  congratulated  the  two  peasants 
on  the  sight. 

"  But,  monsieur,  this  is  nothing,"  one  of  them  answered  with 
perfect  gravity.  "  It  is  not  only  that  the  boundaries  of  com- 
munes are  disappearing;  those  of  provinces  are  of  the  past  also. 
At  Valence,  beyond  the  mountains,  the  two  banks  of  the  Rhone 
have  clasped  hands  and  sworn  eternal  amity.  Henceforth  all 
Frenchmen  are  brothers;  all  Frenchmen  are  of  all  provinces!" 

"That  is  a  fine-  idea,"  I  said. 

-•  \o  son  of  France  will  again  shed  French  blood  !"  they  con- 
tinued. 

"  So  be  it." 

"  Catholic  and  Protestant,  Protestant  and  Catholic,  will  live  at 
peace  !  There  will  be  no  lawsuits.  Grain  will  circulate  freely, 
unchecked  by  tolls  or  dues.  All  will  be  free,  monsieur.  All 
will  be  rich." 

They  said  more  in  the  same  sanguine,  simple  tone,  and  with 
the  same  naive  confidence ;  but  my  thoughts  strayed  from  them, 
attracted  by  a  man,  who,  seated  among  the  peasants  at  the  foot 
of  the  tree,  seemed  to  my  eyes  to  be  of  another  class.  Tall  and 
lean,  with  lank  black  hair,  and  features  of  a  stern,  sour  <•  a»t.  In- 
had  nothing  of  outward  show  to  distinguish  him  from  th"»«- 
around  him.  His  dress,  a  rough  hunting-suit,  was  old  and 
patched  ;  the  spurs  on  his  brown,  mud-stained  boots  wen-  rusty 
and  bent.  Yet  his  carriage  possessed  an  ease  the  others  lacked  ; 
and  in  the  way  he  watched  the  circling  rustics  I  read  a  quiet 
scorn. 

I  did  not  notice  that  he  heeded  or  returned  my  gaze,  but  I  had 
not  gone  on  my  way  a  hundred  paces,  after  taking  leave  of  the 


AT    MILHAU  225 

two  mayors  and  the  revellers,  before  I  heard  a  step,  and,  looking 
round,  saw  the  stranger  coming  after  me.  He  beckoned,  and  I 
waited  until  he  overtook  me. 

"  You  are  going  to  Milhau  ?"  he  said,  speaking  abruptly,  and 
with  a  strong  country  accent,  yet  in  the  tone  of  one  addressing 
an  equal. 

"  Yes,  monsieur,"  I  said.  "  But  I  doubt  if  I  shall  reach  the 
town  to-night." 

"  I  am  going  also,"  he  answered.  "  My  horse  is  in  the  vil- 
lage." 

And  without  saying  more  he  walked  beside  me  until  we 
reached  the  hamlet.  There — the  place  was  deserted — he  brought 
from  an  out-house  a  sorry  mare,  and  mounted.  "  What  do  you 
think  of  that  rubbish  ?"  he  said,  suddenly,  as  we  took  the  road 
again.  I  had  watched  his  proceedings  in  silence. 

"  I  fear  they  expect  too  much,"  I  answered,  guardedly. 

He  laughed — a  horse-laugh  full  of  scorn.  "They  think  that 
the  millennium  has  come,"  he  said.  "  And  in  a  month  they  will 
find  their  barns  burned  and  their  throats  cut." 

"  I  hope  not,"  I  said. 

"  Oh,  I  hope  not,"  he  answered,  cynically.  "  I  hope  not,  of 
course.  But  even  so,  Vive  la  Nation  !  Vive  la  Revolution  /" 

"  What,  if  that  be  its  fruit  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Aye,  why  not  ?"  he  answered,  his  gloomy  eyes  fixed  on  me. 
"It  is  every  one  for  himself ;  and  what  has  the  old  rule  done  forme 
that  I  should  fear  to  try  the  new  ?  Left  me  to  starve  on  an  old 
rock  an,d  a  dove-cot,  sheltered  by  bare  stones,  and  eating  out 
of  a  black  pot!  While  women  and  bankers,  scented  fops- and 
lazy  priests  prick  it  before  the  King  !  And  why  ?  Because  I 
remain,  sir,  what  half  the  nation  once  were." 

"  A  Protestant  ?"  I  hazarded. 

"  Yes,  monsieur.  And  a  poor  noble,"  he  answered,  bitterly. 
"  The  Baron  de  Geol,  at  your  service." 

I  gave  him  my  name  in  return. 

"  You  wear  the  tricolor,"  he  said.  "  Yet  you  think  me  ex- 
treme. I  answer  that  that  is  all  very  well  for  you  ;  but  we  are 
different  people.  You  are  doubtless  a  family  man,  M.  le  Vi- 
comte,  with  a  wife — " 


226  THE    RED    COCK  AUK 

"  On  the  contrary,  M.  le  Baron." 

"Then  a  mother,  a  sister  :" 

•   N">,"  I  said,  smiling.     "  I  have  neither.     I  am  quite-  alone." 

"At  least  with  a  home,"  he  persisted,  "means,  friends,  em- 
ployment, or  the  chance  of  employment?" 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  that  is  so." 

"Whereas  I — I,"  he  answered,  growing  guttural  in  h. 
citement,  "  have  none  of  these  things.  I  cannot  enter  the-  armv 
— I  am  a  Protestant !  I  am  shut  off  from  the  service  of  the 
state — 1  am  a  Protestant!  I  cannot  be  a  lawyer  or  a  judge — I 
am  a  Protestant !  The  King's  schools  are  closed  to  me — I  am  a 
Protestant !  I  cannot  appear  at  court — I  am  a  Protestant !  I 
— in  the  eyes  of  the  law  I  do  not  exist!  I — I,  monsieur,"  he 
continued,  more  slowly,  and  with  an  air  not  devoid  of  dignity, 
"  whose  ancestors  stood  before  kings,  and  whose  grandfather's 
great-grandfather  saved  the  fourth  Henry's  life  at  Coutras — I  do 
not  exist !" 

"  But  now  ?"  I  said,  startled  by  his  tone  of  passion. 

"  Aye,  now,"  he  answered,  grimly,  "  it  is  going  to  be  different. 
Now  it  is  going  to  be  otherwise,  unless  these  black  crows  of 
priests  put  the  clock  back  again.  That  is  why  I  am  on  the 
road." 

"  You  arc  going  to  Milhau  ?" 

"I  live  near  Milhau,"  he  answered.  "And  I  have  been  from 
home.  But  I  am  not  going  home  now.  I  am  going  farther — to 
Nimcs." 

"To  Nimes?"  I  said,  in  surprise. 

"  Yes,"  he  said.  And  he  looked  at  me  askance,  and  a  trifle 
grimly,  and  did  not  say  any  more.  By  this  time  it  was  growing 
dark  ;  the  valley  of  the  Tarn,  along  which  our  road  lay,  though 
fertile  and  pleasant  to  the  eye  in  summer,  wore  at  this  season, 
and  in  the  half-light,  a  savage  and  rugged  aspect.  Mountains 
towered  on  either  side;  and  sometimes,  where  the  road  drew 
near  the  river,  the  rushing  of  the  water  as  it  swirled  and  eddied 
among  the  rocks  below  us  added  its  note  of  melancholy  to  the 
scene.  I  shivered.  The  uncertainty  of  my  quest,  the  uncer- 
tainty of  everything,  the  gloom  of  my  companion,  pressed  upon 
me.  I  was  glad  when  he  roused  himself  from  his  brooding, 


'"WHERKAS    I 1,'    HE    ANSWERED,    GROWING    GUTTURAL    IN    HIS    EXCITEMENT, 

'  HAVE    NONE    OF   THESE    THINGS  '  " 


AT    MILHAU  229 

and  pointed  to  the  lights  of  Milhau  glimmering  here  and  there 
on  a  little  plain,  where  the  mountains  recede  from  the  river. 

"You  are  doubtless  going  to  the  inn?"  he  said,  as  we  entered 
the  outskirts.  I  assented.  "  Then  we  part  here,"  he  continued. 
"  To-morrow,  if  you  are  going  to  Nimes — but  you  may  prefer  to 
travel  alone." 

"  Far  from  it,"  I  said. 

"  Well,  I  shall  be  leaving  the  east  gate — about  eight  o'clock," 
he  answered,  grudgingly.  "  Good-night,  monsieur." 

I  bade  him  good-night,  and,  leaving  him  there,  rode  into  the 
town,  passing  through  narrow,  mean  streets,  and  under  dark 
archways  and  hanging  lanterns,  that  swung  and  creaked  in 
the  wind,  and  did  everything  but  light  the  squalid  obscurity. 
Though  night  had  fallen,  people  were  moving  briskly  to  and 
fro,  or  standing  at  their  doors  ;  the  place,  after  the  solitude 
through  which  I  had  ridden,  had  the  air  of  a  city ;  and  present- 
ly I  became  aware  that  a  little  crowd  was  following  my  horse. 
Before  I  reached  the  inn,  which  stood  in  a  dimly  lit  square,  the 
crowd  had  grown  into  a  great  one,  and  was  beginning  to  press 
upon  me ;  some  who  marched  nearest  to  me  staring  up  inquisi- 
tively into  my  face,  while  others,  farther  off,  called  to  their 
neighbors,  or  to  dim  forms  seen  at  basement  windows,  that  it 
was  he  ! 

I  found  this  somewhat  alarming.  Still,  they  did  not  molest 
me ;  but  when  I  halted  they  halted  too,  and  I  was  forced  to  dis- 
mount almost  in  their  arms.  "  Is  this  the  inn  ?"  I  said  to  those 
nearest  to  me,  striving  to  appear  at  my  ease. 

"  Yes  !  yes  !"  they  cried,  with  one  voice,  "  that  is  the  inn  !" 

"  My  horse—" 

"  We  will  take  the  horse  !     Enter !     Enter !" 

I  had  little  choice,  they  flocked  so  closely  round  me ;  and, 
affecting  carelessness,  I  complied,  thinking  that  they  would  not 
follow,  and  that  inside  I  should  learn  the  meaning  of  their  con- 
duct. But  the  moment  my  back  was  turned  they  pressed  in  af- 
ter me  and  beside  me,  and,  almost  sweeping  me  off  my  feet,  urged 
me  along  the  narrow  passage  of  the  house,  whether  I  would  or 
not.  I  tried  to  turn  and  remonstrate ;  but  the  foremost  drowned 
my  words  in  loud  cries  for  "  M.  Flandre  !  M.  Flandre  !" 


230  THE    RED    COCKADE 

Fortunately  the  person  addressed  was  not  far  off.  A  door 
towards  which  I  was  being  urged  opened,  ami  IK-  appeared.  Il< 
proved  to  be  an  immensely  stout  man,  with  a  face  to  match  his 
body;  and  he  gazed  at  us  for  a  moment,  astounded  by  the  in- 
vasion. Then  he  asked  angrily  what  was  the  matter.  "  Venire 
de  Cielf  he  cried.  "  Is  this  my  house  or  yours,  rascals?  Who 
is  this?" 

"  The  Capuchin  !     The  Capuchin  !"  cried  a  dozen  voices. 

"  Ho !  ho  !"  he  answered,  before  I  could  speak.  "  Bring  a 
light." 

Two  or  three  bare-armed  women  whom  the  noise  had  brought 
to  the  door  of  the  kitchen  fetched  candles,  and  raising  them 
above  their  heads  gazed  at  me  curiously.  "  Ho  !  ho  !"  he  said 
again.  "The  Capuchin,  is  it?  So  you  have  got  him." 

"Do  I  look  like  one?"  I  cried,  angrily,  thrusting  back  those 
who  pressed  on  me  most  closely.  "  Nom  de  Dieu  /  Is  this  the 
%\ay  you  receive  guests,  monsieur?  Or  is  the  town  gone  mad  ?" 

"You  are  not  the  Capuchin  monk?"  he  said,  somewhat  taken 
aback,  I  could  see,  by  my  boldness. 

"  Have  I  not  said  that  I  am  not?  Do  monks  in  your  country 
travel  in  boots  and  spurs  ?"  I  retorted. 

"Then  your  papers!"  he  answered,  curtly.  "Your  papers  ! 
I  would  have  you  to  know,"  he  continued,  puffing  out  his  cheeks, 
"that  I  am  mayor  here  as  well  as  host,  and  I  keep  the  jail  as 
well  as  the  inn.  Your  papers,  monsieur,  if  you  prefer  the  one 
to  the  other." 

"  Before  your  friends  here  ?"  I  said,  contemptuously. 

"  They  are  good  citizens,"  he  answered. 

I  had  some  fear,  now  I  had  come  to  the  pinch,  that  the  com- 
mission I  carried  might  fail  to  produce  all  the  effects  with  which 
I  had  credited  it.  But  I  had  no  choice,  and  ultimately  noth- 
ing to  dread;  and  after  a  momentary  hesitation  I  produced  it. 
Fortunately  it  was  drawn  in  complimentary  terms,  and  gave  the 
mayor,  I  know  not  how,  the  idea  that  I  was  actually  bound  at 
the  moment  on  an  errand  of  state.  When  he  had  read  it,th 
fore,  he  broke  into  a  hundred  apologies,  craved  leave  to  salute 
me,  and  announced  to  the  listening  crowd  that  they  had  made  a 
mistake. 


AT    MILHAU  231 

It  struck  me  at  the  time  as  strange  that  they,  the  crowd, 
were  not  at  all  embarrassed  by  their  error.  On  the  contrary, 
they  hastened  to  congratulate  me  on  my  acquittal,  and  even 
patted  me  on  the  shoulder  in  their  good-humor ;  some  went 
to  see  that  my  horse  was  brought  in,  or  to  give  orders  on  my 
behalf,  and  the  rest  presently  dispersed,  leaving  me  fain  to  be- 
lieve that  they  would  havexhung  me  to  the  nearest  lanterne^  with 
the  same  stolid  complaisance. 

When  only  two  or  three  remained  I  asked  the  mayor  for 
whom  they  had  taken  me. 

"  A  disguised  monk,  M.  le  Vicomte,"  he  said.  "  A  very  dan- 
gerous fellow,  who  is  known  to  be  travelling  with  two  ladies — 
all  to  Nimes ;  and  orders  have  been  sent  from  a  high  quarter  to 
arrest  him." 

"  But  I  am  alone  I"  I  protested.     "  I  have  no  ladies  with  me." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Just  so,  M.  le  Vicomte,"  he 
answered.  "  But  we  have  got  the  two  ladies.  They  were  ar- 
rested this  morning  while  attempting  to  pass  through  the  town 
in  a  carriage.  We  know,  therefore,  that  he  is  now  alone." 

"  Oh  !"  I  said.  "  So  now  you  only  want  him  ?  And  what  is 
the  charge  against  him?"  1  continued, -remembering  with  a  lan- 
guid stirring  of  the  pulses  that  a  Capuchin  monk  had  visited 
Father  Ben&it  before  his  departure.  It  seemed  to  be  strange 
that  I  should  come  upon  the  traces  of  another  here. 

"  He  is  charged,"  M.  Flandre  answered,  pompously,  "  with 
high-treason  against  the  nation,  monsieur.  He  has  been  seen 
here,  there,  and  everywhere,  at  Montpellier,  and  Cette,  and  Albi, 
and  as  far  away  as  Auch;  and  always  preaching  war  and  super- 
stition, and  corrupting  the  people." 

"  And  the  ladies  ?"  I  said,  smiling.  "  Have  they  too  been  cor- 
rupting— " 

"  No,  M.  le  Vicomte.  But  it  is  believed  that  wishing  to  re- 
turn to  Nimes,  and  learning  that  the  roads  were  watched,  he«dis- 
guised  himself  and  joined  himself  to  them.  Doubtless  they  are 
devotes" 

"  Poor  things  !"  I  said,  with  a  qualm  of  compassion  ;   every 
one  seemed  to  be  so  good-tempered,  and  yet  so  hard.     •'  What 
will  you  do  with  them  ?" 
12 


232  THE    RED    COCKADE 

"  I  shall  send  for  orders,"  he  answered.  "  In  his  case,"  he 
continued,  airily,  "  I  should  not  need  them.  But  here  is  your 
supper.  Pardon  UK-,  M.  le  Vicoirite,  if  I  do  not  attend  on  you 
myself.  As  mayor  I  have  to  take  care  that  I  do  not  compro- 
mise— but  you  understand  ?" 

I  said,  civilly,  that  I  did ;  and  supper  being  laid,  as  was  then 
the  custom  in  the  smaller  inns,  in  my  bedroom,  I  asked  him  to 
take  a  glass  of  wine  with  me,  and  over  the  meal  learned  much 
of  the  state  of  the  country,  and  the  fermentation  that  \\ 
work  along  the  southern  seaboard,  the  priests  stirring  up  the 
people  with  processions  and  sermons.  He  waxed  especially  elo- 
quent about  the  excitement  at  Nimes,  where  the  masses  were 
bigoted  Romanists,  while  the  Protestants  had  a  following,  too, 
with  the  hardy  peasants  of  the  mountains  behind  them.  "There 
will  be  trouble,  M.  le  Vicomte,  there  will  be  trouble  there,"  he 
said,  with  meaning.  "Things  are  going  too  well  for  the  people 
la  has.  They  will  stop  them  if  they  can." 

-  And  this  man?" 

"Is  one  of  their  missionaries." 
I  thought  of  Father  Ben&it,  and  sighed. 
"  By-the-way,"   the    mayor  said,  abruptly,  gazing   at  me    in 
moony  thouglitfulness,  "that  is  curious,  now  !" 

-  What  ?"  I  said. 

"  You  come  from  Cahors,  M.  le  Vicomte  ?" 

-  \\YII  r 

Ki  So  do  these  women  ;  or  they  say  they  do.     The  prisoners." 

"  From  Cahors  ?" 

••  Yes.  It  is  ocld  now,"  he  continued,  rubbing  his  chin,  "but 
\s  hen  I  read  your  commission  I  did  not  think  of  that." 

I  shrilled  my  shoulders  impatiently.  "  It  does  not  follow 
that  I  am  in  the  plot,"  I  said.  "  For  goodness'  sake,  M.  le 
Maire,  do  not  let  us  open  the  case  again.  You  have  seen  my 
papers,  and — " 

"Tut!  tut!"  he  said.  "That  is  not  my  meaning.  But  you 
may  know  these  persons" 

"Oh,"  I  said  ;  and  then  I  sat  a  moment,  staring  at  him  be- 
tween the  candles,  my  hand  raised,  a  morsel  on  my  furk.  A 
wild,  extravagant  thought  flashed  into  my  mind.  Two  ladies 


AT    MILHAU  233 

from  Cahors  !  From  Cahors,  of  all  places  !  "  How  do  they 
call  themselves  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Corvas,"  he  answered. 

"  Ob,  Corvas,"  I  said,  falling  to  eating  again,  and  putting 
the  morsel  into  my  mouth.  And  I  went  on  with  my  supper. 

"  Yes.  A  merchant's  wife,  she  says  she  is.  But  you  shall 
see  her." 

"  I  don't  remember  the  name,"  I  answered. 

"  Still  you  may  know  them,"  he  rejoined,  with  the  dull  per- 
sistence of  a  man  of  few  ideas.  "  It  is  just  possible  that  we 
have  made  a  mistake,  for  we  found  no  papers  in  the  carriage, 
and  only  one  thing  that  seemed  suspicious." 

"  What  was  that  ?" 

"  A  red  cockade." 

"  A  red  cockade  ?" 

"  Yes,"  he  answered.  "  The  badge  of  the  old  Leaguers,  you 
know." 

"  But,"  I  said,  "  I  have  not  heard  of  any  party  adopting  that." 

He  rubbed  his  bald  head  a  little  doubtfully.  "  No,"  he  said, 
"  that  is  true.  Still  it  is  a  color  we  don't  like  here.  And  two 
ladies  travelling  alone — alone,  monsieur !  Then  their  driver,  a 
half-witted  fellow,  who  said  that  they  had  engaged  him  at  Ro- 
dez,  though  he  denied  stoutly  that  he  had  seen  the  Capuchin, 
told  two  or  three  tales.  However,  if  you  will  eat  no  more,  M. 
le  Vicomte,  I  will  take  you  to  see  them.  You  may  be  able  to 
speak  for  or  against  them." 

"  If  you  do  not  think  that  it  is  too  late,"  I  said,  shrinking 
somewhat  from  the  interview. 

"  Prisoners  must  not  be  choosers,"  he  answered,  with  an  un- 
pleasant chuckle.  And  he  called  from  the  door  for  a  lantern 
and  his  cloak. 

"  The  ladies  are  not  here,  then  ?"  I  said. 

"  No,"  he  answered,  with  a  wink.  "  Safe  bind,  safe  find  ! 
But  they  have  nothing  to  cry  about.  There  are  one  or  two 
rough  fellows  in  the  clink,  so  Babet,  the  jailer,  has  given  them 
room  in  his  house." 

At  this  moment  the  lantern  came,  and  the  mayor,  having 
wrapped  his  portly  person  in  a  cloak,  we  passed  out  of  the 


234  THE    RED    COCKADE 

house.  The  square  outside  was  utterly  <l:irk  ;  such  lights  as 
had  heen  burning  when  I  arrived  had  been  extinguished,  per- 
haps by  the  wind,  which  was  rising,  and  now  blew  keenly  across 
the  open  space.  The  yellow  glare  of  the  lantern  was  necessary, 
but  though  it  showed  us  a  few  feet  of  the  roadway,  and  enabled 
us  to  pick  our  steps,  it  redoubled  the  darkness  beyond  ;  I  could 
not  see  even  the  line  of  the  roofs,  and  had  no  idea  in  what 
direction  we  had  gone  or  how  far,  when  M.  Flandre  halted  ab- 
ruptly, and,  raising  the  lantern,  threw  its  light  on  a  grea>y 
stone  wall,  from  which,  set  deep  in  the  stone-work,  a  low,  iron- 
studded  door  frowned  on  us.  About  the  middle  of  the  door 
hung  a  huge  knocker,  and  above  it  was  a  small  grille. 

"Safe  bind,  safe  find!"  the  mayor  said  again,  with  a  fat 
chuckle;  but  instead  of  raising  the  knocker  he  drew  his  stick 
sharply  across  the  bars  of  the  grille. 

The  summons  was  understood  and  quickly  answered.  A  face 
peered  a  moment  through  the  grating  ;  then  the  door  opened 
to  us.  The  mayor  took  the  lead,  and  we  passed  in,  out  of  the 
night,  into  a  close,  warm  air,  reeking  of  onions  and  foul  tobac- 
co, and  a  hundred  like  odors.  The  jailer  silently  locked  the 
door  behind  us,  and,  taking  the  mayor's  lantern  from  him,  led 
the  way  down  a  grimy,  low-roofed  passage,  barely  wide  enough 
for  one  man.  He  halted  at  the  first  door  on  the  left  of  the  pas- 
sage, and  threw  it  open. 

M.  Flandre  entered  first,  and,  standing  while  he  removed  his 
hat,  for  an  instant  filled  the  doorway.  I  had  time  to  hear  and 
note  a  burst  of  obscene  singing,  which  came  from  a  room  far- 
ther down  the  passage,  and  the  frequent  baying  of  a  prison- 
dog  that,  hearing  us,  flung  itself  against  its  chain  somewhere 
in  the  same  direction.  I  noted,  too,  that  the  walls  of  the  pas- 
sage in  which  I  stood  were  dingy  and  trickling  with  moisture  ; 
and  then  a  voice,  speaking  in  answer  to  M.  Flandre's  salutation, 
caught  my  ear  and  held  me  motionless. 

The  voice  was  madame's — Madame  de  St.  Alais's ! 

It  was  fortunate  that  I  had  entertained,  though  but  a  second, 
the  wild,  extravagant  thought  that  had  occurred  to  me  at  sup- 
per, for  in  a  measure  it  had  prepared  me.  And  I  had  little 
time  for  other  preparation,  for  thought,  or  decision.  Luckily 


"  '  SAFE  BIND,  SAFE    FIND,'  AND  HE  DREW  HIS   STICK    SHARPLY  ACROSS 
THE   BARS   OF   THE   GRILLE" 


AT    MILHAU  237 

the  room  was  thick  with  vile  tobacco  smoke  and  the  steam 
from  linen  drying  by  the  fire  ;  and  I  took  advantage  of  a  fit  of 
coughing,  partly  assumed,  to  linger  an  instant  on  the  threshold 
after  M.  Flandre  had  gone  in.  Then  I  followed  him. 

There  were  four  people  in  the  room  besides  the  mayor,  but  I 
had  no  eyes  for  the  frowzy  man  and  woman  who  sat  playing 
with  a  filthy  pack  of  cards  at  a  table  in  the  middle  of  the  floor. 
I  had  eyes  only  for  madame  and  mademoiselle,  and  them  I  de- 
voured. They  sat  on  two  stools  on  the  farther  side  of  the 
hearth,  the  girl  with  her  head  laid  wearily  back  against  the 
wall  and  her  eyes  half  closed,  the  mother,  erect  and  watchful, 
meeting  the  mayor's  look  with  a  smile  of  contempt.  Neither 
the  prison-house  nor  danger  nor  the  companionship  of  this 
squalid  hole  had  had  power  to  reduce  her  fine  spirit ;  but  as  her 
eyes  passed  from  the  mayor  and  encountered  mine,  she  started 
to  her  feet  with  a  gasping  cry,  and  stood  staring  at  me. 

It  was  not  wonderful  that  for  a  second,  peering  through  the 
reek,  she  doubted.  But  one  there  was  who  did  not  doubt. 
Mademoiselle  had  sprung  up  in  alarm  at  the  sound  of  her  moth- 
er's cry,  and  for  the  briefest  moment  we  looked  at  one  another. 
Then  she  sank  back  on  her  stool,  and  I  heard  her  break  into 
violent  crying. 

"  Hallo  !"  said  the  mayor,  "  what  is  this  ?" 

"  A  mistake,  I  fear,"  I  said,  hoarsely,  in  words  I  had  already 
composed.  "  I  am  thankful,  madame,"  I  continued,  bowing  to 
her  with  distant  ceremony,  and  as  much  indifference  as  I  could 
assume,  "  that  I  am  so  fortunate  as  to  be  here." 

She  muttered  something  and  leaned^  against  the  wall.  She 
had  not  yet  recovered  herself. 

"  You  know  the  ladies  ?"  the  mayor  said,  turning  to  me  and 
speaking  roughly,  even  with  a  tinge  of  suspicion  in  his  voice. 
And  he  looked  from  one  to  the  other  of  us  sharply. 

"  Perfectly,"  I  said. 

"  They  are  from  Cahors  ?" 

"  From  that  neighborhood."  • 

"  But,"  he  said,  "  I  told  you  their  names,  and  you  said  that 
you  did  not  know  them,  M.  le  Vicomte  ?" 

For  a  moment  I  held  my  breath ;  gazing  into  madame's  face 


238  THE    RED    COCKADE 

and  reading  there  anxiety,  and  something  more — a  sudden  ter- 
ror. I  took  the  leap  ;  I  could  do  nothing  else.  "  You  told  me 
Corvas — that  the  lady's  name  was  Corvas,"  I  muttered. 

"  Yes,"  he  said. 

"  But  madamc's  name  is  Correas." 

"  Correas  ?"  he  repeated,  his  jaw  falling. 

"Yes,  Correas.  I  dare  say  that  the  ladies,"  I  continued,  with 
assumed  politeness,  "  did  not  in  their  fright  speak  very  clearly." 

"  And  their  name  is  Correas  ?" 

"  I  told  you  that  it  was,"  madame  answered,  speaking  for  the 
first  time,  "and  also  that  I  knew  nothing  of  your  Capuchin 
monk.  And  this  last,"  she  continued,  earnestly,  her  eyes  fixed 
on  mine  in  passionate  appeal — in  appeal  that  this  time  could  not 
be  mistaken — "  I  say  again,  on  my  honor!" 

I  knew  that  she  meant  this  for  me,  and  I  responded  to  the 
cry.  "  Yes,  M.  le  Maire,"  I  said,  "  I  am  afraid  that  you  have 
made  a  mistake.  I  can  answer  for  madame  as  for  myself." 

The  mayor  rubbed  his  head. 


CHAPTER   XVI 
THREE    IN    A    CARRIAGE 

"Or  course,  if  madarae  —  if  madarae  knows  nothing  of  the 
monk,"  he  said,  looking  vacantly  about  the  dirty  room,  "  it  is 
clear  that — it  seems  clear  that  there  has  been  a  mistake." 

"  And  only  one  thing  remains  to  be  done,"  I  suggested. 

"  But — but,"  he  continued,  with  a  resumption  of  his  former 
importance,  "  there  is  still  one  point  unexplained — that  of  the 
red  cockade,  monsieur  ?  What  of  that,  M.  le  Vicomte  ?" 

"  The  red  cockade  ?"  I  said. 

"  Aye,  what  of  that  ?"  he  asked,  briskly. 

I  had  not  expected  this,  and  I  looked  desperately  at  madame. 
Surely  her  woman's  wit  would  find  a  way,  whatever  the  cockade 
meant.  "  Have  you  asked  Madame  Correas  ?"  I  said  at  last,  fee- 
bly shifting  the  burden.  "  Have  you  asked  her  to  explain  it  ?" 

"  No,"  he  answered. 

"Then  I  would  ask  her,"  I  said. 

"  Nay,  do  not  ask  me ;  ask  M.  le  Vicomte,"  she  answered, 
lightly.  "  Ask  him  of  what  color  are  the  facings  of  the  National 
Guards  of  Quercy  ?" 

"  Red !"  I  cried,  in  a  burst  of  relief.  "  Red !"  I  knew,  for  had 
I  not  seen  Buton's  coat  lying  by  the  forge  ?  But  how  Madame 
de  St.  Alais  knew  I  have  no  idea. 

"  Ah  !"  M.  Flandre  said,  with  the  air  of  one  still  a  little  doubt- 
ful. "  And  madame  wears  the  cockade  for  that  reason  ?" 

"  No,  M.  le  Maire,"  she  answered,  with  a  roguish  smile — I  saw 
that  it  was  her  plan  to  humor  him — "  I  do  not ;  my  daughter 
does.  If  you  wish  to  ask  further,  or  the  reason,  you  must  ask 
her." 

M.  Flandre  had  the  curiosity  of  the  true  bourgeois,  and  the 


240  IIIK    RED    COCKADE 

love  of  the  sex.  He  simpered.  "  If  mademoiselle  would  be  so 
good,"  he  said. 

Denise  had  remained  up  to  this  point  hidden  behind  her 
mother ;  at  the  word  she  crept  out,  and  reluctantly  and  like  a 
prisoner  brought  to  the  bar,  stood  before  us.  It  was  only  when 
she  spoke,  however,  nay,  it  was  not  until  she  had  spoken  some 
words,  that  I  understood  the  full  change  that  I  saw  in  her ;  or 
why,  instead  of  the  picture  of  pallid  weariness  which  she  had 
presented  a  few  minutes  before,  she  now  showed,  as  she  stood 
forward,  a  face  covered  with  blushes,  and  eyes  shining  and  suf- 
fused. 

"  It  is  simple,  monsieur,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice.  "  My  fianc6, 
M.  le  Maire,  is  in  that  regiment." 

"  And  you  wear  it  for  that  reason  ?"  the  mayor  cried,  delighted. 

•*!  love  him,"  she  said,  softly.  And  for  a  moment — for  a 
moment  her  eyes  met  mine. 

Then  I  know  not  which  was  the  redder,  she  or  I,  or  which 
found  that  vile  and  filthy  room  more  like  a  palace,  its  tobacco- 
laden  air  more  sweet!  I  had  not  dreamed  what  she  was  going 
to  say,  least  of  all  had  I  dreamed  what  her  eyes  said,  as  for  that 
instant  they  met  mine  and  turned  my  blood  to  fire  !  I  lost  the 
mayor's  blunt  answer  and  his  chuckling  laugh  ;  and  only  re- 
turned to  a  sense  of  the  present  when  mademoiselle  slipped 
back  to  hide  her  burning  face  behind  her  mother,  and  I  saw  in 
her  place  madame  facing  me  with  her  finger  to  her  lip  and  a 
glance  of  warning  in  her  eyes. 

It  was  a  warning  not  superfluous, 'for  in  the  flush  of  my  first 
enthusiasm  I  might  have  said  anything.  And  the  mayor  was  in 
better  hands  than  mine.  The  little  touch  of  romance  and  sen- 
timent which  mademoiselle's  avowal  had  imported  into  the  mat- 
ter had  removed  his  last  suspicion  and  won  his  heart.  He  ogled 
madame,  he  beamed  on  the  girl  with  fatherly  gallantry.  He 
made  a  jest  of  the  monk. 

••  A  mistake,  and  yet  one  I  cannot  deplore,  madame,"  he  prc- 
1,  with  clumsy  civility.  "  For  it  has  given  me  the  pleasure 
of  seeing  you." 

"Oh,  M.  le  Maire  !"  madame  simpered. 

"  But  the  state  of  the  country  is  really  such,"  he  continued, 


THREE    IN    A    CARRIAGE  241 

"  that  for  the  beautiful  sex  to  be  travelling  alone  is  not  safe.    It 
exposes  them — " 

"  To  worse  rencontres  than  this,  I  fear,"  madame  said,  dart- 
ing a  look  from  her  fine  eyes.  "  If  this  were  the  worst  we  poor 
women  had  to  fear !"  And  she  looked  at  him  aojain. 

O 

"  Ah,  madame  !"  he  said,  delighted. 

"But,  alas !  we  have  no  escort." 

The  fat  mayor  sighed.  I  think  that  he  was  going  to  offer 
himself.  Then  a  thought  struck  him.  "  Perhaps  this  gentle- 
man— "  and  he  turned  to  me.  "  You  go  to  Nimes,  M.  le  Vi- 
comte  ?" 

"  Yes,"  I  said.     "  And,  of  course,  if  Madame  Correas — " 

"  Oh,  it  would  be  troubling  M.  le  Vicomte,"  madame  said ; 
and  she  went  a  step  farther  from  me  and  a  step  nearer  to  M. 
Flandre,  as  if  he  must  understand  her  hesitation. 

"  I  am  sure  it  could  be  no  trouble  to  any  one !"  he  answered, 
stoutly.  "  But  for  the  matter  of  that,  if  M.  le  Vicomte  perceives 
any  difficulty,"  and  he  laid  his  hand  on  his  heart,  "  I  will  find 
some  one — " 

"  Some  one  ?"  madame  said,  archly. 

"  Myself,"  the  mayor  answered. 

"  Ah  !"  she  cried,  "  if  you—" 

But  I  thought  that  now  I  might  safely  step  in.  "  No,  no,"  I 
said.  "  M.  le  Maire  is  taking  all  against  me.  I  can  assure  you, 
madame,  I  shall  be  glad  to  be  of  service  to  you.  And  our  roads 
lie  together.  If,  therefore — " 

"  I  shall  be  grateful,"  madame  answered,  with  a  delightful  lit- 
tle courtesy  ;  "  that  is,  if  M.  le  Maire  will  let  out  his  poor  pris- 
oners, who,  as  he  now  knows,  have  done  nothing  worse  than 
sympathize  with  National  Guards." 

"  I  will  take  it  on  myself,  madame,"  M.  Flandre  said,  with 
vast  importance.  He  had  been  brought  to  the  desired  point. 
"  The  case  is  quite  clear.  But "  —  he  paused  and  coughed 
slightly — "  to  avoid  complications,  you  had  better  leave  early. 
When  you  are  gone  I  shall  know  what  explanations  to  give. 
And  if  you  would  not  object  to  spending  the  night  here,"  he 
continued,  looking  round  him  with  a  touch  of  sheepishness,  "  I 
think  that—" 


242  THE    KED    COCKADE 

••  \Ve  shall  mind  it  less  than  before,"  in:i<l;um-  said,  with  a 
look  and  a  sigh.  "  I  feel  safe  since  you  have  been  to  see  us." 
And  she  held  out  a  hand  that  was  still  white  and  plump. 

The  mayor  kissed  it. 

As  I  walked,  a  few  minutes  later,  across  the  square,  picking 
my  steps  by  the  yellow  light  of  M.  Flandre's  lantern,  and  at 
times  enveloped  in  the  flying  skirt  of  his  cloak — for  the  good 
man  had  his  own  visions,  and  for  a  hundred  yards  together  for- 
got his  company — I  could  have  thought  all  that  had  passed  a 
dream,  so  unreal  seemed  the  squalid  prison-lodging  1  had  just 
left,  so  marvellous  the  ladles'  presence  in  it,  so  incredible  made- 
moiselle's blushing  avowal,  made  to  my  face.  But  a  wheezing 
clock  overhead  struck  the  hour  before  midnight,  and  I  counted 
the  strokes;  a  watchman  not  far  from  me  cried,  after  the  old 
fashion,  that  it  was  eleven  o'clock  and  a  h'ne  night,  and  I  stum- 
bled over  a  stone.  No,  I  was  not  dreaming. 

But  if  I  had  to  stumble  then  to  persuade  myself  that  I  was 
awake,  how  was  it  with  me  next  morning,  when  with  the  first 
glimmer  of  light  I  walked  beside  the  carriage  from  the  inn  to 
the  prison,  and  saw,  before  I  reached  the  gloomy  door,  madame 
and  mademoiselle  standing  shivering  under  the  wall  beside  it? 
I  low  was  it  with  me  when  I  held  mademoiselle's  hand  in  mine 
as  I  helped  her  in,  and  then  followed  her  in  and  sat  opposite  to 
her — sat  opposite  to  her,  with  the  knowledge  that  I  was  so  to 
sit  for  days  ;  that  I  was  to  be  her  fellow-traveller ;  that  we  were 
to  go  to  Nimes  together? 

Ah,  how  was  it,  indeed?  But  there  is  nothing  quite  perfect; 
there  is  no  hour  in  which  a  man  says  that  he  is  quite  happy  : 
and  a  shadow  of  fear  and  stealth  darkened  my  bliss  that  morn- 
ing. The  mayor  was  there  to  see  us  start,  and  I  fancy  that  it 
was  his  faei.-  of  apprehension  that  lay  at  the  bottom  of  this  fecl- 
ing.  A  moment,  however,  and  the  face  was  gone  from  the  win- 
dow ;  another,  and  the  carriage  began  to  roll  quickly  through 
the  dim  streets,  while  we  lay  baek,  each  in  a  corner,  hidden  by  the 
darkness  even  from  one  another.  Still,  we  had  the  i^ates  to  pass, 
and  the  guard;  or  the  wateh  might  stop  us,  or  some  early-rising 
townsman,  or  any  one  of  a  hundred  accidents.  My  heart  beat  fast. 


THREE    IN    A    CARRIAGE  243 

But  all  went  well.  Within  five  minutes  we  bad  passed  the 
gates  and  left  them  behind  us,  and  were  rolling  in  safety  along 
the  road.  The  dawn  was  no  more  than  gray,  the  trees  showed 
black  against  the  sky,  as  we  crossed  the  Tarn  by  the  great 
bridge,  and  began  to  climb  the  valley  of  the  Dourbie. 

I  have  said  that  we  could  not  see  one  another.  But  on  a 
sudden  madame  laughed  out  of  the  darkness  of  her  corner.  "  O 
Richard,  0  mon  JRoi !  "  she  hummed.  Then,  "  The  fat  fool !"  she 
cried,  and  she  laughed  again. 

I  thought  her  cruel,  and  almost  an  ingrate ;  but  she  was 
mademoiselle's  mother,  and  I  said  nothing.  Mademoiselle  was 
opposite  to  me,  and  I  was  happy.  I  was  happy,  thinking  what 
she  would  say  to  me  and  how  she  would  look  at  me  when  the 
day  came  and  she  could  no  longer  escape  my  eyes ;  when  the 
day  came,  and  the  dainty,  half-shrouded  face  that  already  began 
to  glimmer  in  the  roomy  corner  of  the  old  berlin  should  be  mine 
to  look  on,  to  feast  my  eyes  on,  to  question  and  read  through 
-long  days  and  hours  of  a  journey — a  journey  through  heaven ! 

Already  it  was  growing  light ;  I  had  but  a  little  longer  to 
wait.  A  rosy  flush  began  to  tinge  one-half  the  sky  ;  the  other 
half,  pale  blue  and  flecked  with  golden  clouds,  lay  behind  us.  A 
few  seconds,  and  the  mountain-tips  caught  the  first  rays  of  the 
sun,  and  floated  far  over  us  in  golden  ether.  I  cast  one  greedy 
glance  at  mademoiselle's  face,  saw  there  the  dawn  outblushed ; 
I  met  for  one  second  her  eyes,  and  saw  the  glory  of  the  ether 
outshone — and  then  I  looked  away,  trembling.  It  seemed  sac- 
rilege to  look  longer. 

Suddenly  madame  laughed  again  out  of  her  corner — a  laugh 
that  made  me  wince  and  grow  hot.  "  She  is  not  made  for  a 
nun,  M.  le  Vicomte,  is  she  ?"  she  said. 

I  bounced  in  my  seat.  The  speaker's  tone,  gay,  insulting, 
flicked,  not  me,  but  the  girl,  like  a  whip. 

"  You  really,  Denise,  must  have  had  practice,"  madame  con- 
tinued, smoothly.  "  I  love,  you  love,  we  love — you  are  quite 
perfect.  Did  you  practise  with  M.  le  Directeur  ?  Or  with  the 
big  boys  over  the  wall  ?" 

"  Madame !"  I  cried.  The  girl  had  drawn  her  hood  over  her 
face,  but  I  could  fancy  her  shame. 


244  THE    RED    COCKADE 

But  madame  was  inexorable.  "  Really,  Denise,  I  do  not 
know  that  I  ever  told  even  your  father  '  I  love  you,'  "  she  said. 
"At  any  rate,  until  he  had  kissed  me  on  the  lips.  But  I  sup- 
pose that  you  reverse  the  order — " 

"  Madame,"  I  stammered,  "  this  is  infamous  !" 

-•  What,  monsieur,"  she  answered,  this  time  deeding  me, 
"  may  I  not  punish  my  daughter  in  my  own  way  ?" 

"  \ot  before  me,"  I  retorted,  full  of  wrath.  "  It  is  cruel ! 
It  is—" 

"  Oh,  before  you,  M.  le  Vicomte  ?"  madame  answered,  mock- 
ing me.  "  And  why  not  before  you  ?  I  cannot  degrade  her 
lower  than  she  has  herself  stooped  !" 

"  It  is  false  !"  I  cried,  in  hot  rage.    "  It  is  a  cruel  falsehood  !" 

"Oh,  I  can?  Then  if  I  please,  I  shall  !"  madame  answered, 
with  ruthless  pleasantry.  "  And  you,  monsieur,  will  sit  by  and 
listen,  if  I  please.  Though  make  no  mistake,  M.  le  Vicomte," 
she  continued,  leaning  forward  and  gazing  keenly  into  my  face. 
"  Because  I  punish  her  before  you,  do  not  think  that  you  arc. 
or  ever  shall  be,  of  the  family.  Or  that  this  unmaidenly,  im- 
modest "  (mademoiselle  uttered  a  cry  of  pain  and  shrank  lower  in 
her  corner)  "  little  fool,"  madame  continued,  coolly,  >l  « li<>,  when 
she  was  primed  with  a  cock-and-bull  story  about  the  cockade,  must 
needs  add  '  1  love  him  ' — I  love  him,  and  she  a  maiden  ! — will 
ever  be  anything  to  you  !  That  link  was  broken  long  ago.  It 
was  broken  when  your  friends  burned  our  house  at  St.  Alais ;  it 
was  broken  when  they  sacked  our  house  in  Cahors  ;  it  was 
broken  when  they  made  our  King  a  prisoner,  when  they  mur- 
dered our  friends,  when  they  dragged  our  Chim-h  a  slave  at  the 
chariot-wheels  of  their  triumph  ;  aye,  and  broken,  once  for  all, 
beyond  mending  by  mock  heroics!  Understand  that  fully,  M. 
lr  Vicomte,"  mad<ime  continued,  pitilessly.  "But  as  you  saw 
her  stoop,  you  shall  see  her  punished.  She  is  the  first  St. 
Alais  that  ever  wooed  a  lover  !" 

I  knew  that  of  the  family  which  would  have  given  the  lie  to 
that  statement ;  but  it  was  not  a  talc  for  mademoiselle's  ears, 
and  instead  I  rose.  "  At  least,  madame,"  I  said,  bowing,  "  I 
can  free  mademoiselle  from  the  embarrassment  of  my  presence. 
And  I  shall  do  so." 


"  WITHIN   FIVE   MINUTES  WE  HAD   PASSED   THE   GATES   AND  LEFT  THEM 
BEHIND    US" 


THREE    IN    A    CARRIAGE  247 

"  No,  you  will  not  do  even  that,"  madame  answered,  unmoved. 
"  If  you  will  sit  down,  I  will  tell  you  why." 

I  sat  down,  compelled  by  her  tone. 

"You  will  not  do  it,"  rnadame  continued,  looking  me  coolly 
in  the  face,  "  because  I  am  bound  to  admit,  though  I  no  longer 
like  you,  that  you  are  a  gentleman." 

"  And  therefore  should  leave  you." 

"  On  the  contrary,  for  that  reason  you  will  continue  to  travel 
with  us." 

"  Outside,"  I  said. 

"  No  ;  inside,"  she  answered,  quickly.  "  We  have  no  passport 
nor  papers  ;  without  your  company  we  should  be  stopped  in 
each  town  through  which  we  pass.  It  is  unfortunate,"  madame 
continued,  shrugging  her  shoulders.  "  I  did  not  know  that 
the  country  was  in  so  bad  a  state,  or  I  would  have  taken  pre- 
cautions ;  it  is  unfortunate.  But  as  it  is  we  must  put  up  with 
it  and  travel  together." 

I  felt  a  warm  rush  of  joy,  of  triumph,  of  coming  vengeance. 
"  Thank  you,  madame,"  I  said,  and  I  bowed  to  her,  "  for  telling 
me  that.  It  seems,  then,  that  you  are  in  my  power." 

"  Ah  ?" 

"  And  that  to  requite  you  for  the  pain  you  have  just  caused 
mademoiselle,  I  have  only  to  leave  you." 

"Well?" 

"  I  see  even  now  a  little  town  before  us  ;  in  three  minutes  we 
shall  enter  it.  Very  well,  madame.  If  you  say  another  word 
to  your  daughter,  if  you  insult  her  again  in  my  presence  by  so 
much  as. a  syllable,  I  leave  you  and  go  my  way." 

To  my  surprise,  Madame  St.  Alais  broke  into  a  silvery  laugh. 
"You  will  not,  monsieur,"  she  said.  "And  yet  I  shall  treat  my 
daughter  as  I  please." 

"  I  shall  do  so  !" 

"  You  will  not." 

"  Why,  then  ?     Why  shall  I  not?"  I  cried. 

"  Because,"  she  answered,  laughing  softly,  "  you  are  a  gentle- 
man, M.  le  Vicomte,  and  can  neither  leave  us  nor  endanger  us. 
That  is  all." 

I  sank  back  in  my  seat  and  glared  at  her  in  speechless  indig- 


248  THE    RED    COCKADE 

nation,  seeing  in  a  flash  my  impotence  and  her  power.  The 
cushions  burned  me,  but  I  could  not  leave  them. 

She  laughed  again,  well  pleased.  "There,  I  have  told  you 
what  you  will  not  do,"  she  said.  "  Now  I  am  going  to  tell  you 
what  you  will  do.  In  front,  I  am  told,  they  are  very  suspicious. 
The  story  of  Madame  Corvas,  even  if  backed  by  your  word, 
may  not  suffice.  You  will  say,  therefore,  that  I  am  your  mother 
and  that  mademoiselle  is  your  sister.  She  would  prefer,  I  dare 
say,"  madame  continued,  with  a  cutting  glance  at  her  daughter, 
"  to  pass  for  your  wife.  But  that  does  not  suit  me." 

I  breathed  hard ;  but  I  was  helpless  as  any  prisoner,  closely 
bound  to  obedience  as  any  slave.  I  could  not  denounce  tin- in, 
and  I  could  not  leave  them  ;  honor  and  love  were  alike  con- 
cerned. Yet  I  foresaw  that  I  must  listen,  hour  by  hour,  and 
mile  by  mile,  to  gibes  at  the  girl's  expense,  to  sneers  at  her 
modesty,  to  words  that  cut  like  whip  -  lashes.  That  was 
madame's  plan.  The  girl  must  travel  with  me,  must  breathe 
the  same  air  with  me,  must  sit  for  hours  with  the  hem  of  her 
skirt  touching  my  boot.  It  was  necessary  for  the  safety  of  all. 
But,  after  this,  after  what  we  had  both  heard,  if  her  eye  met  mine, 
it  could  only  fall;  if  her  hand  touched  mine,  she  must  shrink 
in  shame.  Henceforth  there  was  a  barrier  between  us. 

As  a  fact,  mademoiselle's  pride  came  to  her  aid,  and  she  sat, 
neither  weeping  nor  protesting,  nor  seeking  to  join  her  forces 
to  mine  by  a  glance,  but  bearing  all  with  steadfast  patience ; 
she  looked  out  of  the  window  when  I  pretended  to  sleep,  an«l 
looked  towards  her  mother  when  I  sat  erect.  Possibly  she 
found  her  compensations,  and  bore  her  punishment  quietly  for 
their  sake.  But  I  did  not  think  of  that.  Possibly,  too,  she 
suffered  less  than  I  fancied  ;  but  I  doubt  if  she  would  admit 
that,  even  to-day. 

At  any  rate,  she  had  heard  me  fight  her  battle  ;  yet  she  did  not 
speak  to  me  nor  I  to  her,  and  under  these  strange  conditions 
we  began  and  pursued  the  strangest  journey  man  ever  made. 
\Y<-  drove  through  pleasant  valleys  growing  green,  over  sterile 
passes  where  winter  still  fringed  the  rocks  with  snow,  through 
sunshine,  and  in  the  teeth  of  cold  mountain  winds  ;  but  we 
scarcely  heeded  any  of  these  things.  Our  hearts  and  thoughts 


THREE    IN    A    CARRIAGE  249 

lay  inside  the  carriage,  where  madarae  sat  smiling,  and  we  two 
kept  grim  silence. 

About  noon  we  halted  to  rest  and  eat  at  a  little  village  inn, 
high  up.  It  seemed  to  me  a  place  almost  at  the  end  of  the 
world,  with  a  chaos  of  mountains  rising  tier  on  tier  above  it,  and 
slopes  of  shale  below.  But  the  frenzy  of  the  time  had  reached 
even  this  barren  nook.  Before  we  had  taken  two  mouthfuls  the 
syndic  called  to  see  our  papers  ;  and — God  knows  I  had  no 
choice — madame  passed  for  my  mother  and  Denise  for  my  sis- 
ter. Then,  while  the  syndic  still  stood  bowing  over  my  com- 
mission, and  striving  to  learn  from  me  what  news  there  was 
below,  a  horse  halted  at  the  door,  and  I  heard  a  man's  voice, 
and  in  a  breath  M.  le  Baron  de  Geol  walked  in.  There  was  a 
single  decent  room  in  the  inn — that  in  which  we  sat — and  he 
came  into  it. 

He  uncovered,  seeing  ladies ;  and,  recognizing  me  with  a 
start,  smiled,  but  a  trifle  sourly.  "  You  set  off  early  ?"  he  said. 
"  I  waited  at  the  east  gate,  but  you  did  not  come,  monsieur." 

I  colored,  conscience  -  stricken,  and  begged  a  thousand  par- 
dons. As  a  fact,  I  had  clean  forgotten  him.  I  had  not  once 
thought  of  the  appointment  I  had  made  with  him  at  the  gate. 

"  You  are  not  riding  ?"  he  said,  looking  at  my  companions  a 
little  strangely. 

"  No,"  I  answered.  And  I  could  not  find  another  word  to 
say.  The  syndic  still  stood  smiling  and  bowing  beside  me,  and 
on  a  sudden  I  saw  the  pit  on  the  edge  of  which  I  tottered,  and 
my  face  burned. 

"  You  have  met  friends  ?"  M.  le  Baron  persisted,  looking,  hat 
in  hand,  at  madame. 

"  Yes,"  I  muttered.  Politeness  required  that  I  should  intro- 
duce him.  But  I  dared  not. 

However,  at  that,  he  at  last  took  the  hint;  and  he  retired 
with  the  syndic.  The  moment  they  were  over  the  threshold 
madame  flashed  out  at  me  in  a  passion  of  anger.  "  Fool !"  she 
said,  without  ceremony,  "  why  did  you  not  present  him  ?  Don't 
you  know  that  that  is  the  way  to  arouse  suspicion  and  ruin  us? 
A  child  could  see  that  you  had  something  to  hide.  If  you  had 
presented  him  at  once  to  your  mother — " 


250  THE    RED    COCKADE 

"  Yes,  madame  ?" 

" — be  would  have  gone  away  satisfied." 

"I  doubt  it,  madame,  and  for  a  very  good  reason,"  I  an- 
swered, cynically,  "  seeing  that  yesterday  I  told  him,  with  the 
utmost  particularity,  that  I  bad  neither  mother  nor  sister." 

That  afforded  me  a  little  revenge.  Madame  St.  Alais  went 
white  and  red  in  the  same  instant,  and  sat  a  moment  with  her 
lips  pressed  together  and  her  eyes  on  the  table.  "Who  is  he? 
What  do  you  know  of  him  ?"  she  said,  at  last. 

"  He  is  a  poor  gentleman  and  a  bigoted  Protestant,"  I  an- 
swered, dryly. 

She  bit  her  lip.  "Bon  Dieuf"  she  muttered.  "Who  could 
have  foreseen  such  an  accident?  Do  you  think  that  he  suspects 
anything?" 

"Doubtless.     To  begin,  I  left  early  this  morning,  in  breach 
of  an  agreement  to  travel  with  him.      When  he  learns,  in  addi- 
tion, that  I  am  travelling  with  my  mother  and  sister,  whom 
terday  I  did  not  possess* — " 

Madame  looked  at  me  as  if  she  would  strike  me.  "  What 
will  you  do  ?"  she  cried. 

"It  is  for  my  mother  to  say,"  I  answered,  politely.  And  I 
helped  myself  very  indifferently  to  cheese.  "She  dictated  this 
policy." 

She  was  white  with  rage,  and  perhaps  alarm ;  I  chuckled 
secretly,  seeing  her  condition.  But  rage  availed  her  little; 
she  had  to  humble  herself.  "  What  do  you  advise?"  she  said, 
at  last. 

"There  is  only  one  course  open,"  I  answered.  "We  must 
brazen  it  out." 

Slu-  agreed.  But  this,  though  a  very  easy  course  to  advice, 
\\as  OIK;  anything  but  easy  to  pursue.  I  discovered  that  a  few 
minutes  later,  when  I  went  out  to  see  if  the  ean  ia^e  was  ready, 
and  found  De  Geol  in  the  doorway  with  a  face  as  hard  as  his 
own  hills.  "You  are  starting?"  he  said. 

I  muttered  that  I  was. 

"  I  find  that  I  have  to  congratulate  you,''  he  continued,  with 
a  smile  of  unpleasant  meaning. 

"  On  what,  monsieur  <" 


" '  YOU    HAVE    MKT    FRIKNDS  ?'    M.  LK    BARON    PERSISTED,  LOOKING   AT    MADAME  " 


THREE    IN    A    CARRIAGE  253 

"  On  finding  your  family,"  he  answered,  looking  at  me  with  a 
bitter  sort  of  humor.  "  To  discover  both  a  mother  and  a  sister 
in  twenty-four  hours  must  be  great  happiness.  But — may  I 
give  you  a  hint,  M.  le  Vicomte  ?" 

"  If  you  please,"  I  said,  with  desperate  coolness. 

"  Then  if — being  so  happy  in  making  discoveries — you  hap- 
pen to  light  next  on  M.  Froment — on  M.  Froment,  the  firebrand 
of  Nimes,  false  Capuchin,  and  false  traitor ! — do  not  adopt  him 
also  !  That  is  all." 

"  I  am  not  acquainted  with  him,"  I  said,  coldly.  He  had 
spoken  with  passion  and  fire. 

"  Do  not  become  so,"  he  answered. 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders,  and  he  said  no  more ;  and  in  a  mo- 
ment madatne  and  mademoiselle  came  out  and  took  their  seats, 
and  I  set  out  to  walk  up  the  hill  beside  the  horses. 

The  ascent  was  steep  and  long  and  toilsome,  and  a  dozen 
times  as  we  climbed  out  of  the  valley  we  had  to  halt  to  breathe 
the  cattle ;  a  dozen  times  I  looked  back  at  the  gray  mountain 
inn  lying  on  the  desolate  gray  plateau  at  our  feet.  Always  I 
found  the  baron  looking  up  at  us,  stern  and  gaunt  and  motion- 
less as  the  house  before  which  he  stood.  And  I  shivered. 


CHAPTER   XVII 
FROMENT    OF    N1MES 

THIS  encounter  served  neither  to  raise  my  spirits  nor  to  re- 
move the  apprehensions  with  which  I  looked  forward  to  our 
arrival  in  places  more  populous ;  places  where  suspicion,  once 
roused,  might  be  less  easily  allayed.  True,  Geol  had  not  be- 
trayed me,  but  he  might  have  his  reasons  for  that;  nor  did  the 
fact  any  the  more  reconcile  me  to  having  on  our  trail  this  grim 
stalking-horse,  in  whose  person  a  fanaticism  I  had  deemed 
dead  lurked  behind  modern  doctrines,  and  sought  under  the 
cloak  of  a  new  party  to  avenge  old  injuries.  The  barren  slopes 
and  rugged  peaks  that  rose  above  us,  as  we  plodded  toilsomely 
onward,  the  wind-swept  passes  over  which  the  horses  scam- 
dragged  the  empty  carriage,  the  melancholy  fields  of  snow  that 
lay  to  right  and  left — all  tended  to  deepen  the  impression  made 
on  my  mind;  so  that,  feeling  him  one  with  his  native  hills,  I 
longed  to  escape  from  them — I  longed  to  be  clear  of  this  deso- 
lation, a*nd  to  see  before  me  the  sunshine  and  olive  slopes  sweep 
down  to  the  southern  sea. 

Yet  even  here  there  was  a  counterpoise.  The  peril  which 
had  startled  me  had  not  been  lost  on  Madame  St.  Alais ;  it  had 
sensibly  lowered  her  tone,  and  damped  the  triumph  with  which 
she  had  been  disposed  to  treat  me.  She  was  more  quiet;  and 
sitting  in  hi-r  place,  or  walking  beside  the  laboring  carriage 
as  it  slowly  wound  its  way  round  shoulders  or  wearily  climbed 
long  lacets,  she  left  me  to  myself.  Nay,  it  did  not  escape  me 
that  distance,  far  from  relieving,  seemed  to  aggravate  her  anxi 
so  that  the  farther  we  left  the  uncouth  baron  behind  the  more 
restless  she  grew,  the  more  keenly  she  scanned  the  road  be- 
hind us,  and  the  less  regard  she  paid  to  me. 


FROMENT    OF    N1MES  255 

This  left  me  at  liberty  to  use  my  eyes  as  I  would ;  and  I  re- 
member to  this  day  that  hour  spent  under  the  shoulder  of  Mont 
Aigoual.  Mademoiselle,  worn  out  by  days  and  nights  of  exertion, 
had  fallen  asleep  in  her  corner,  and,  shaken  by  the  jolting  of 
the  coach,  had  let  the  cloak  slip  from  her  face.  A  faint  flush 
warmed  her  cheeks,  as  if  even  in  sleep  she  felt  my  eyes  upon 
her;  and  though  a  tear  presently  stole  from  under  her  long 
lashes,  a  smile  almost  nai've — a  smile  that  remained  while  the 
tear  passed — seemed  to  say  that  the  joys  of  that  strange  day 
surpassed  the  pains,  and  that  in  her  sleep  mademoiselle  found 
nothing  to  regret.  God,  how  I  watched  that  smile !  How  I 
hoped  that  it  was  for  me  !  How  I  prayed  for  her  !  Never  before 
had  it  been  ray  happiness  to  gaze  on  her  uncontrolled  as  I  did 
now  ;  to  trace  the  shadow  where  the  first  tendrils  of  her  hair 
stole  up  from  the  smooth,  white  forehead ;  to  learn  the  soft 
curves  of  lips  and  chin,  and  the  dainty  ear  half  hidden  ;  to  gaze 
at  the  blue-veined  eyelids,  half  in  fear,  half  in  the  hope  that 
they  might  rise  and  discover  me  ! 

Denise,  my  Denise !  I  breathed  the  word  softly  in  my  heart, 
and  was  happy.  In  spite  of  all — the  cold,  the  journey,  Geol, 
madame — I  was  happy.  And  then  in  a  moment  I  fell  to  earth 
as  I  heard  a  voice  say,  clearly,  "  Is  that  he  ?" 

It  was  madame's  voice,  and  I  turned  to  her.  I  was  relieved 
to  find  that  she  was  not  looking  my  way,  but  was  on  her  feet, 
gazing  back  the  way  we  had  come.  And  in  a  moment,  whether 
she  gave  an  order  or  the  driver  halted  on  his  own  motion, 
the  carriage  came  to  a  stand  in  a  mountain-pass,  where  rocks 
lay  huddled  on  either  side. 

"What  is  it?"  I  said,  in  wonder. 

She  did  not  answer,  but  on  the  silence  of  the  road  and  the  moun- 
tains rose  the  thin  strain  of  a  whistled  air.  The  air  was  "  0 
Richard,  O  mon  Roi!"  In  that  solitude  of  rock  and  fell  it  piped 
high  and  thin,  and  had  a  weird,  startling  effect.  I  thrust  out 
my  head  on  the  other  side,  and  saw  a  man  walking  after  us  at 
his  leisure,  as  if  we  had  passed  him,  and  then  stood  to  wait 
for  him.  He  was  tall  and  stout,  wore  boots  and  a  common- 
looking  cloak ;  but  for  all  that  he  had  not  the  air  of  a  man  of 
the  country. 


256  TIIK    RED    COCKADE 

"You  are  going  to  Ganges?"  madame  cried  to  him,  without 
preface. 

"  Yes,  madame,1'  he  answered,  as  he  came  quietly  up  and 
saluted  her. 

"  We  can  take  you  on,"  she  said. 

"A  thousand  thanks,"  lie  answered,  his  eyes  twinkling. 
"You  are  too  good.  If  the  gentleman  does  not  object?" 
And  he  looked  at  me,  smiling  without  disguise. 

"Oh  no!"  madame  said,  with  a  touch  of  contempt  in  her 
voice,  "  the  gentleman  will  not  object." 

But  that  gave  me,  in  the  middle  of  my  astonishment,  the 
fillip  that  I  needed.  The  device  of  the  meeting  was  so  trans- 
parent, the  appearance  of  this  man,  in  cloak  and  boots,  on  the 
desolate  road  far  from  any  habitation,  was  so  clearly  a  part  of 
an  arranged  plan,  that  I  could  not  swallow  it;  I  must  either 
fall  in  with  it,  be  dupe,  and  play  my  role  with  my  eyes  open, 
or  act  at  once.  I  awoke  from  my  astonishment.  "One  mo- 
ment, madame,"  I  said.  "  I  do  not  know  who  this  gentleman 
is." 

"She  had  resumed  her  seat,  and  the  stranger  had  come  up 
to  the  window  on  her  side  and  was  looking  in.  He  had  a  face 
of  striking  power ;  large-sized  and  coarse,  but  not  unpleasant; 
with  quick,  bright  eyes,  and  mobile  lips  that  smiled  easily. 
The  hand  he  laid  on  the  carriage  door  was  immense. 

I  think  my  words  took  madame  by  surprise.  She  flashed 
round  on  me.  "  Nonsense !"  she  cried,  imperiously.  And  to 
him,  "  Get  in,  monsieur." 

"  No,"  I  retorted,  half  rising.  "  Stay,  if  you  please — stay 
where  you  are  until — " 

Madame  turned  to  me,  furious.  "This  is  my  carriage,"  she 
said. 

"  Absolutely,"  I  answered. 

"Then  what  do  you  mean?" 

"Only  that  if  this  gentleman  enters  it,  I  leave  it." 

For  an  instant  \\<:  looked  at  one  another.  Then  she  saw  that 
I  was  determined,  and,  knowing  my  position,  she  lowered  her 
tone.  "  Why,  because  lie  enters  it,  should  you  leave  it  ?" 

"  Because,  madame,"  I  answered,  "  I  see  no  reason  for  taking 


FROMEXT    OF    X1MES  257 

in  a  stranger  whom  we  do  not  know.     This  gentleman  may  be 
everything  that  is  upright — " 

"  He  is  no  stranger  !"  she  snapped.  "  I  know  him.  Will 
that  satisfy  you  ?" 

"  If  he  will  give  me  his  name,"  I  said. 

Hitherto  he  had  stood  unmoved  by  the  discussion,  looking 
with  a  smile  from  one  to  the  other  of  us;  but  at  this  he  struck 
in.  "  With  pleasure,  monsieur,"  he  said.  "  My  name  is  Alibon, 
and  I  am  an  advocate  of  Montauban,  who  last  week  had  the  good- 
fortune — " 

"  No,"  I  said,  interrupting  him  brusquely,  and  once  for  all. 
"  I  think  not.  Not  Alibon  of  Montauban.  Froment  of  Nimes, 
I  think,  monsieur." 

A  tract  of  snow  flushed  by  the  sunset  lay  behind  him,  and  by 
contrast  darkened  his  face ;  I  could  not  see  how  he  took  my 
words.  And  a  few  seconds  elapsed  before  he  answered.  When 
he  did,  however,  he  spoke  calmly,  and  I  fancied  I  detected  as 
much  vanity  as  chagrin  in  his  tone.  "Well,  monsieur,"  he  said, 
"  and  if  I  am  ?  What  then  ?" 

"  If  you  are,"  I  replied,  resolutely  meeting  his  eyes,  "  I  de- 
cline to  travel  with  you." 

"  And  therefore,"  he  retorted,  "  madame,  whose  carriage  this 
is,  must  not  travel  with  me !" 

"  No,  since  she  cannot  travel  without  me,"  I  answered  with 
spirit. 

He  frowned  at  that ;  but  in  a  moment,  "  And  why  ?"  he  said, 
with  a  sneer.  "  Am  I  not  good  enough  for  your  excellency's 
company  ?" 

"  It  is  not  a  question  of  goodness,"  I  said,  bluntly,  "  but  of  a 
passport,  monsieur.  If  you  ask  me,  I  do  not  travel  with  you 
because  I  hold  a  commission  under  the  present  government, 
and  I  believe  you  to  be  working  against  that  government.  I 
have  lied  for  Madame  St.  Alais  and  her  daughter.  She  was  a 
woman,  and  I  had  to  save  her.  But  I  will  not  lie  for  you,  nor 
be  your  cloak.  Is  that  plain,  monsieur  ?" 

"  Quite,"  he  said,  slowly.     "  Yet  I  serve  the  King.     Whom 
do  you  serve  ?" 
I  was  silent. 


258  THE    RED    COCKADE 

••  Whose  is  this  commission,  monsieur,  that  must  not  be  con- 
taminated !" 

I  writhed  under  the  sneer,  but  I  was  silent. 

"  Come,  M.  le  Vicomte,"  he  continued,  frankly,  and  in  a  dif- 
ferent tone.  "  Be  yourself,  I  pray.  I  am  Froment ;  you  have 
guessed  it.  I  am  also  a  fugitive,  and  were  my  name  spoken  in 
Villeraugues,  a  league  on,  I  should  hang  for  it.  And  in  Ganges 
the  like.  I  am  at  your  mercy,  therefore ;  and  1  ask  you  to 
shelter  me.  Let  me  pass  through  Sum&ne  and  Ganges  as  one 
of  your  party ;  thenceforth  onwards,"  he  added,  with  a  smile 
and  a  gesture  of  conscious  pride,  "  I  can  shift  for  myself." 

I  do  not  wonder  I  hesitated  ;  I  wonder  I  resisted.  It  seemed 
so  small  a  thing  to  ask,  so  great  a  thing  to  refuse,  that,  though 
half  a  minute  before  my  mind  had  been  made,  up,  I  wavered — 
wavered  miserably.  1  felt  my  face  burn,  I  felt  the  passionate 
ardor  of  madame's  eyes  as  they  devoured  it,  I  felt  the  call  of 
the  silence  for  my  answer.  I  was  near  assenting.  But  as  I 
turned  feverishly  in  my  seat  to  avoid  madame's  look,  my  hand 
touched  the  packet  which  contained  the  commission  ;  and  the 
contact  wrought  a  revulsion  of  feeling.  I  saw  the  thing  as  I 
li:id  seen  it  before,  and,  rightly  or  wrongly,  revolted  from  that 
which  I  had  nearly  done. 

"  No,"  I  cried,  angrily.     "  I  will  not !     I  will  not !" 

"  You  coward  !"  madame  cried,  with  sudden  passion.  And 
she  sprang  up  as  if  to  strike  me,  but  sat  down  again  trembling. 

"  It  may  be,"  I  said.     "  But  I  will  not  do  it." 

-  Why  ?     Why  ?     Why  ?"  she  cried. 

"  Because  I  carry  that  commission  ;  and  to  use  it  to  shelter 
M.  Froment  were  a  thing  M.  Froment  would  not  do  himself. 
That  is  all." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  magnanimously  kept  silence. 
But  she  was  furious.  "  Quixote  !"  she  cried.  "  Oh,  you  are 
intolerable!  But  you  shall  suffer  for  it!  £h,  bieii,  monsieur, 
you  shall  suffer  for  it !"  she  repeated,  vehemently. 

"  Nay,  madame,  you  need  not  threaten,"  I  retorted.  "  For  if 
I  would,  I  could  not.  You  forget  that  M.  de  G6ol  is  no  more 
than  a  league  behind  us,  and  bound  for  Niuus;  lu;  may  appear 
at  any  moment.  At  best  he  is  sure  to  lodge  where  we  do  to- 


FROMENT    OF    NIME8  259 

night.  If  he  finds,"  I  continued,  dryly,  "  that  I  have  added  a 
brother  to  my  growing  family,  I  do  not  think  that  he  will  take 
it  lightly." 

But  this,  though  she  must  have  seen  the  sense  of  it,  had  no 
effect  upon  her.  "  Oh,  you  are  intolerable  !"  she  cried  again. 
"  Let  me  out !  Let  me  out,  monsieur." 

This  last  to  Froment.  I  did  not  gainsay  her,  and  he  let  her 
out,  and  the  two  walked  a  few  paces  away,  talking  rapidly. 

I  followed  them  with  ray  eyes  ;  and  seeing  him  now,  de- 
tached, as  it  were,  and  solitary  in  that  dreary  landscape — a 
man  alone  and  in  danger — I  began  to  feel  some  compunction. 
A  moment  more,  and  I  might  have  repented  ;  but  a  touch  fell 
on  my  sleeve,  and  I  turned  with  a  start  to  find  Denise  leaning 
towards  me,  with  her  face  wrapt  and  eager. 

"  Monsieur,"  she  whispered,  eagerly ;  before  she  could  say 
more  I  seized  the  hand  with  which  she  had  touched  me,  and 
kissed  it  fiercely. 

"  No,  monsieur,  no,"  she  whispered,  drawing  it  from  me,  with 
her  face  grown  crimson — but  her  eyes  still  met  mine  frankly. 
"  Not  now.  I  want  to  speak  to  you,  to  warn  you,  to  ask 
you—" 

"  And  I,  mademoiselle,"  I  cried  in  the  same  low  tone,  "  want 
to  bless  you,  to  thank  you — " 

"  I  want  to  ask  you  to  take  care  of  yourself,"  she  persisted, 
shaking  her  head  almost  petulantly  at  me  to  silence  me.  "  Lis- 
ten !  Some  trap  will  be  laid  for  you.  My  mother  would  not 
harm  you,  though  she  is  angry  ;  but  that  man  is  desperate,  and 
we  are  in  straits.  Be  careful,  therefore,  monsieur,  and — " 

"  Have  no  fear,"  I  said. 

"  Ah,  but  I  have  fear,"  she  answered. 

And  the  way  in  which  she  said  that,  and  the  way  in  which 
she  looked  at  me,  and  looked  away  again  like  a  startled  bird, 
filled  me  with  happiness — with  intense  happiness  ;  so  that, 
though  madame  came  back  at  that  moment,  and  no  more  passed 
between  us,  not  even  a  look,  but  we  had  to  sink  back  in  our 
seats  and  affect  indifference,  I  was  a  different  man  for  it.  Per- 
haps something  of  this  appeared  in  my  face,  for  madame,  as  she 
came  up  to  the  door,  shot  a  suspicious  glance  at  me,  a  glance 


260  THE    BED    COCKADE 

almost  of  hatred,  and  from  me  looked  keenly  at  her  daughter. 
Ilowever,  nothing  was  said  except  by  Froment,  who  came  up  to 
the  door  and  closed  it  after  she  had  entered.  He  raised  his  hat 
to  me. 

"  M.  le  Vicomte,"  he  said,  with  a  little  bitterness,  "  if  a  dog 
came  to  my  door,  as  I  came  to  you  to-day,  I  would  take  him  in  !" 

"  You  would  do  as  I  have  done,"  I  said. 

"  No,"  he  said,  firmly  ;  "I  would  take  him  in.  Nevertheless, 
when  we  meet  at  Nimes,  I  hope  to  convert  you." 

"  To  what  ?"  I  said,  coldly. 

"To  having  a  little  faith,"  he  answered,  with  dryness.  "To 
having  a  little  faith  in  something,  and  risking  somewhat  for  it, 
monsieur.  I  stand  here,"  he  went  on,  with  a  gesture  that  was 
not  without  grandeur,  "alone  and  homeless  to-day;  I  do  not 
know  where  I  shall  lie  to-night.  And  why,  M.  le  Vicomte  ?  Be- 
cause I  alone  in  France  have  faith  !  Because  I  alone  believe  in 
anything  !  Because  I  alone  believe  even  in  myself!  Do  you 
think,"  he  continued,  with  rising  scorn,  "  that  if  you  nobles  be- 
lieved in  yonr  nobility  you  could  be  unseated  ?  Never !  Or 
that  if  you  who  say  'Long  live  the  King!'  believed  in  your 
King  he  could  be  unseated?  Never!  Or  that  if  you  who 
profess  to  obey  the  Church  believed  in  her  she  could  be  up- 
rooted ?  Never!  But  you  believe  in  nothing, you  admire  noth- 
ing, you  reverence  nothing — and  therefore  you  are  doomed !  ^ 
doomed  ;  for  even  the  men  with  whom  you  have  linked  your- 
self have  a  sort  of  bastard  faith  in  their  theories,  their  philosophy, 
their  reforms,  that  are  to  regenerate  the  world.  But  you — you 
believe  in  nothing;  and  you  shall  pass,  as  you  pass  from  me 
now  !" 

He  waved  his  hand  with  a  gesture  of  menace,  and  before  I 
could  answer  the  carriage  rolled  on  and  left  him  standing 
there ;  the  gray  landscape,  cold  and  barren,  took  the  place 
of  his  face  at  the  door.  The  light  was  beginning  to  fail ;  we 
were  still  a  league  from  Villeraugucs.  I  was  glad  to  feel 
the  carriage  moving,  and  to  be  free  from  him  ;  my  heart,  too, 
was  warm  because  Dcnisc  sat  opposite  me,  and  I  loved  her. 
But  for  all  that,  ami  though  madame,  glowering  at  me  from  her 
corner,  troubled  me  little,  the  thought  that  I  had  deserted  him 


FEOMENT    OF    N1MES  261 

— that  and  his  words,  and  one  word  in  particular,  hummed  in  my 
head,  and  oppressed  me  with  a  sense  of  coming  ill.  "  Doomed  ! 
Doomed  !"  He  had  said  it  as  if  he  meant  it.  I  could  no  long- 
er question  his  eloquence  ;  I  could  no  longer  be  ignorant  why 
they  called  him  the  firebrand  of  Nimes.  The  hot  breath  of  the 
southern  city  had  come  from  him ;  the  passion  of  world-old 
strifes  had  spoken  in  his  voice.  Uneasily  I  pondered  over  what 
he  had  said,  and  recalled  the  words  spoken  by  Father  Benoit, 
even  by  Geol,  to  the  same  effect ;  and  so  brooded  in  my  corner, 
while  the  carriage  jolted  on  and  darkness  fell,  until  presently  we 
stopped  in  the  village  street. 

I  offered  Madame  St.  Alais  my  arm  to  descend.  "  No,  mon- 
sieur," she  said,  repelling  me  with  passion  ;  "  I  will  not  touch 
you." 

She  meant,  I  think,  to  seclude  herself  and  mademoiselle,  and 
leave  me  to  sup  alone.  But  in  the  inn  there  was  only  one  great 
room  for  parlor  and  kitchen  and  all,  and  a  little  cupboard, 
veiled  by  a  dingy  curtain,  in  which  the  women  might  sleep  if 
they  pleased,  but  in  which  they  could  not  possibly  eat.  The 
inn  was,  in  fact,  the  worst  in  which  I  had  stopped — the  maid 
draggled  and  dirty  and  smelling  of  the  stable,  the  company 
three  boors,  the  floor  of  earth,  the  windows  unglazed.  Ma- 
dame, accustomed  to  travel,  and  supported  by  her  anger,  took 
all  with  the  ease  of  a  fine  lady  ;  but  Denise,  fresh  from  her  con- 
vent, winced  at  the  brawling  and  oaths  that  rose  round  her,  and 
cowered,  pale  and  frightened,  on  her  stool. 

A  hundred  times  I  was  on  the  point  of  interfering  to  protect 
her  from  these  outrages;  but  her  eyes,  when  they  made  me 
happy  by  timidly  seeking  mine  for  an  instant,  seemed  to  pray 
me  to  abstain ;  and  the  men,  as  their  senseless  tirades  showed, 
were  delegates  from  Castres,  who  at  a  word  would  have  raised 
the  cry  of  "  Aristocrats  !"  I  refrained,  therefore,  and  doubtless 
with  wisdom ;  but  even  the  arrival  of  Geol  would  have  been  a 
welcome  interruption. 

I  have  said  that  madame  heeded  them  little ;  but  it  presently 
appeared  that  I  was  mistaken.  After  we  had  supped,  and  when 
the  noise  was  at  its  height,  she  came  to  me,  where  I  sat  a  little 
apart,  and,  throwing  into  her  tone  all  the  anger  and  disgust 


262  THE    RED    COCKADE 

which  her  face  so  well  masked,  she  cried  in  my  ear  that  we 
must  start  at  daybreak. 

••  At  daybreak — or  before  !"  she  whispered,  fiercely.  "  This 
is  horrible  !  horrible  !"  she  continued.  "  This  place  is  killing 
me !  1  would  start  now,  cold  and  dark  as  it  is,  if — " 

"  I  will  speak  to  them,"  I  said,  taking  a  step  towards  the 
table. 

She  clutched  my  sleeve,  and  pinched  me  until  I  winced. 
"  Fool !", she  said.  "  Would  you  ruin  us  all  ?  A  word,  and  we 
are  betrayed.  No;  but  at  daybreak  we  go.  We  shall  not 
sleep,  and  the  moment  it  is  light  we  go !" 

I  consented,  of  course ;  and,  going  to  the  driver,  who  had 
taken  our  place  at  the  table,  she  whispered  him  also,  and  then 
came  back  to  me,  and  bade  me  call  him  if  he  did  not  rise. 
This  settled,  she  went  towards  the  closet,  whither  mademoi- 
selle had  already  retired ;  but,  unfortunately,  her  movements 
had  drawn  on  her  the  attention  of  the  clowns  at  the  table,  and 
one  of  these,  rising  suddenly  as  she  passed,  intercepted  her. 

"  A  toast,  inadame  !  a  toast !"  he  cried,  with  a  gross  hiccough  ; 
and,  reeling  on  his  feet,  he  thrust  a  cup  of  wine  in  front  of  her. 
"A  toast;  and  one  that  every  man,  woman,  and  child  in  France 
must  drink  or  be  damned !  And  that  is  the  tricolor !  Th« 
tricolor;  and  down  with  Madame  Veto!  The  tricolor,  ma- 
dame  !  Drink  to  it !" 

The  drunken  wretch  pressed  the  cup  on  her,  while  his  com- 
rades roared:  "Drink!  Drink!  The  tricolor!  and  down  with 
Madame  Veto !"  and  added  jests  and  oaths  I  will  not  write. 

This  was  too  much.  I  sprang  to  my  feet  to  chastise  the 
wretches.  But  madame,  who  preserved  her  presence  of  mind 
to  a  marvel,  checked  me  by  a  glance.  "  No,"  she  said,  rais- 
ing her  head  proudly,  "  I  will  not  drink  '." 

"Ah  !"  he  cried,  with  a  vile  laugh.  "An  aristocrat,  are  we? 
Drink,  nevertheless,  or  we  shall  show  you — " 

"  I  will  not  drink  !"  she  retorted,  facing  him  with  superb  cour- 
age. "  And,  more,  when  M.  de  Geol  arrives  to-night  you  will 
have  to  give  an  account  to  him." 

The  man's  face  fell.  "  YTou  know  the  Baron  de  Geol:"  lie 
s.ii.l.  in  a  different  tone. 


FROMENT    OF    NiMES  263 

"  I  left  him  at  the  last  village,  and  I  expect  him  here  to-night," 
she  answered,  coolly.  "  And  I  would  advise  you,  monsieur,  to 
drink  your  own  toasts,  and  let  others  go !  For  he  is  not  a  man 
to  brook  an  insult !" 

The  brawler  shrugged  his  shoulders  to  hide  his  mortification. 
"  Oh  !  if  you  are  a  friend  of  his,"  he  muttered,  preparing  to  slink 
back  to  the  table,  "  I  suppose  it  is  all  right.  He  is  a  good  man. 
No  offence.  If  you  are  not  an  aristocrat — " 

"  I  am  no  more  of  an  aristocrat  than  is  M.  de  Geol,"  she  an- 
swered. And,  with  a  cold  bow,  she  turned  and  went  to  the 
closet. 

The  men  were  a  little  less  noisy  after  that ;  for  madame  had 
rightly  guessed  that  Geol's  name  was  known  and  respected. 
They  presently  wrapped  themselves  in  their  cloaks  and  lay  down 
on  the  floor ;  and  I  did  the  same,  passing  the  night,  in  the  result, 
in  greater  comfort  than  I  expected. 

At  first,  it  is  true,  I  did  not  sleep ;  but  later  I  fell  into  an  un- 
easy slumber,  and,  passing  from  one  troubled  dream  to  another 
— for  which  I  had,  doubtless,  to  thank  the  foul  air  of  the  room 
— I  awoke  at  last  with  a  start,  to  find  some  one  leaning  over  me. 
Apparently  it  was  still  night,  for  all  was  still ;  but  the  red  em- 
bers of  the  fire  glowed  on  the  hearth  and  dimly  lit  up  the  room, 
enabling  me  to  see  that  it  was  Madame  St.  Alais  who  had  roused 
me.  She  pointed  to  the  other  men,  who  still  lay  snoring. 

"  Hush  !"  she  whispered,  with  her  finger  on  her  lip.  "  It  is 
after  five.  Jules  is  harnessing  the  horses.  I  have  paid  the 
woman  here,  and  in  five  minutes  we  shall  be  ready." 

"  But  the  sun  will  not  rise  for  another  hour,"  I  answered. 
This  was  early  starting  with  a  vengeance ! 

Madame,  however,  had  set  her  heart  upon  it.  "  Do  you  want 
to  expose  us  to  more  of  this  ?"  she  said,  in  a  furious  whisper. 
"  To  keep  us  here  until  Geol  arrives,  perhaps  ?" 

"  I  am  ready,  madame,"  I  said. 

This  satisfied  her ;  she  flitted  away  without  saying  more,  and 
disappeared  behind  the  curtain,  and  I  heard  whispering.  I  put 
on  my  boots,  and,  the  room  being  very  cold,  stooped  a  moment 
over  the  fire,  and,  drawing  the  embers  together  with  my  foot, 
warmed  myself.  Then  I  put  on  my  cravat  and  sword,  which  I 


264  TIIK     RED    COCK  AUK 

liad  removed,  and  stood  ready  to  start.  It  seemed  uselessly 
early,  and  we  had  started  so  early  the  day  before !  If  madame 
wished  it,  however,  it  was  my  place  to  give  way  to  her. 

In  a  moment  she  came  to  me  again ;  and  I  saw,  even  by  that 
light,  that  her  fSce  was  twitching  with  eagerness.  "  Oh  !"  she 
said,  "will  he  never  come?  That  man  will  be  all  day.  Go 
and  hasten  him,  monsieur!  If  Geol  comes!  Go,  for  pitv's 
sake,  and  hasten  him  !" 

I  wondered,  thinking  such  haste  utterly  vain  and  foolish ;  it 
was  not  likely  that  Geol  would  arrive  at  this  hour ;  but  con- 
cluding that  madame's  nerves  had  failed  at  last,  I  thought  it 
proper  to  comply,  and,  stepping  carefully  over  the  sleepers, 
reached  the  door.  I  raised  the  latch,  and  in  a  moment  was  out- 
side and  had  closed  the  door  behind  me.  The  bitter  dawn 
wind,  laden  with  a  fine  snow,  lashed  my  checks  and  bit  through 
my  cloak  and  made  me  shiver.  In  the  cast  the  daybreak  \\as 
only  faintly  apparent;  in  every  other  quarter  it  was  still  night, 
and,  for  all  I  could  see,  might  be  midnight. 

Very  little  in  charity  with  madame,  I  picked  my  way,  sb|te- 
ing,  to  the  door  of  the  stable  —  a  mean  hovel,  in  a  line  intli 
the  house,  and  set  in  a  sea  of  mud.  It  was  closed,  but  a  dim 
yellow  light,  proceeding  from  a  window  towards  the  farther 
end,  showed  me  where  Jules  was  at  work,  and  I  raised  the  latch 
and  called  him.  lie  did  not  answer,  and  I  had  to  go  in  to  him, 
passing  behind  three  or  four  wretched  nags — some  on  their  legs 
and  some  lying  down — until  I  came  to  our  horses,  which  stood 
side  by  side  at  the  end,  with  the  lantern  hung  on  a  hook  near 
them. 

Still  I  did  not  see  Jules,  and  I  was  standing  wondering  where 
he  was — for  he  did  not  answer — when,  with  a  whish,  something 
black  struck  me  in  the  face.  It  blinded  me ;  in  a  moment  I 
found  myself  struggling  in  the  folds  of  a  cloak  that  completely 
enveloped  my  face,  while  a  grip  of  iron  seized  my  arms  and 
bound  them  to  my  sides.  Taken  completely  by  surprise,  I  tried 
to  shout,  but  the  heavy  cloak  stilled  me  ;  when,  struggling  <h-s- 
perately,  I  succeeded  in  uttering  a  half-choked  cry,  other  hands 
than  those  which  held  me  pressed  the  cloak  more  tightly  over  my 
face.  In  vain  1  writhed  and  twisted,  and,  half  sufT"<-;itr.l,  tried 


"TAKEN  ENTIRELY  BY  SURPRISE,  i  TRIED  TO  SHOUT,  BUT  THE  HEAVY 

CLOAK    STIFLED    ME  " 


.- 


FROMENT    OF    NIMES  267 

to  free  myself.  I  felt  hands  pass  deftly  over  me,  and  knew  that 
I  was  being  robbed.  Then,  as  I  still  resisted,  the  man  who  held 
me  from  behind  tripped  me  up,  and  I  fell,  still  in  his  grasp,  on 
my  face  on  the  ground. 

Fortunately,  I  fell  on  some  litter ;  but,  even  so,  the  shock 
drove  the  breath  out  of  me ;  and  what  with  that  and  the  cloak, 
which  in  this  new  position  threatened  to  strangle  me  outright,  I 
lay  a  moment  helpless,  while  the  wretches  bound  my  hands  be- 
hind me  and  tied  my  ankles  together.  Thus  secured,  I  felt 
myself  taken  up  and  carried  a  little  way,  and  flung  roughly  down 
on  a  soft  bed — of  hay,  as  I  knew  by  the  scent.  Then  some  one 
threw  a  truss  of  hay  on  me,  and  more  and  more  hay,  until  I 
thought  that  I  should  be  stifled,  and  tried  frantically  to  shout. 
But  the  cloak  was  wound  two  or  three  times  round  my  head, 
and,  strive  as  I  would,  I  could  only,  with  all  my  efforts,  force 
out  a  dull  cry  that  died  smothered  in  its  folds. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
A     POOR     FIGURE 

I  DID  not  struggle  long.  The  efforts  I  had  made  to  free  my- 
self from  the  men,  and  this  last  exertion  of  striving  to  shout, 
brought  the  blood  to  my  head ;  and  so  exhausted  me  that  I  lay 
inert,  my  heart  panting  as  if  it  would  suffocate  me,  and  my  lungs 
craving  more  air.  I  was  in  danger  of  being  stifled  in  earnest, 
and  knew  it;  but,  fortunately,  the  horror  of  this  fate,  which  ;i 
minute  before  had  driven  me  to  frantic  efforts,  now  gave  me  the 
supreme  courage  to  lie  still,  and,  collecting  myself,  do  all  I 
could  to  get  air. 

It  was  time  I  did.  I  was  hot  as  fire  and  sweating  at  every 
pore;  however,  the  dreadful  sensation  of  choking  went  off  some- 
what when  I  had  lain  a  while  motionless;  and  by  turning  my 
head  and  chest  a  little  to  the  side — which  I  succeeded  in  doing, 
though  I  could  not  raise  myself — I  breathed  more  freely.  Still, 
my  position  was  horrible.  Helpless  as  I  was,  with  the  trusses 
of  hay  pressing  on  me,  fresh  pains  soon  rose  to  take  the  place 
of  those  allayed.  The  bonds  on  my  wrists  began  to  burn  into 
my  flesh;  the  hilt  of  my  sword  forced  itself  into  my  side;  my 
back  seemed  to  be  breaking  under  the  burden  ;  my  shoulders 
ached  intolerably.  I  was  being  slowly,  slowly  pressed  to  death, 
in  darkness,  and  when  a  cry — a  single  cry,  if  I  could  raise  mv 
voice — would  bring  relief  and  succor! 

The  thought  so  maddened  me  that,  fancying,  after  an  age  of 
this  suffering,  that  I  heard  a  faint  sound  as  of  some  one  moving 
in  the  stable,  I  lost  control  of  myself  and  fell  to  struggling 
again,  while  groans  broke  from  me  instead  of  cries,  and  the 
bonds  cut  into  my  arms.  But  the  paroxysm  only  added  to  my 
misery  ;  the  person,  whoever  he  was,  did  not  hear  me  and  made 


A    POOR    FIGURE  269 

no  farther  noise ;  or,  if  he  did,  the  blood  coursing  to  my  head, 
and  swelling  the  veins  of  my  neck  almost  to  bursting,  deafened 
me  to  the  sound.  The  horrible  weight  that  I  had  raised  for  a 
moment  sank  again.  I  gave  up,  I  despaired  ;  and  lay  in  a  kind 
of  swoon,  unable  to  think,  unable  to  remember,  no  longer  hop- 
ing for  relief  or  planning  escape,  but  enduring. 

I  must  have  lain  thus  some  time  when  a  noise  loud  enough 
to  reach  my  dulled  ears  roused  me  afresh  ;  I  listened,  at  first 
with  half  a  heart.  The  noise  was  repeated ;  then,  without  fur- 
ther warning,  a  sharp  pain  darted  through  the  calf  of  my  leg. 
I  screamed  out ;  and,  though  the  cloak  and  the  hay  over  my 
head  choked  the  cry,  I  caught  a  kind  of  echo  of  it.  Then 
silence. 

Stupid  as  a  man  awakened  from  sleep,  I  thought  for  a  mo- 
ment that  I  had  dreamed  both  the  cry  and  the  pain,  and  groaned 
in  my  misery.  The  next  moment  I  felt  the  hay  that  lay  on  me 
move ;  then  the  truss  that  pressed  most  heavily  on  me  was  lift- 
ed, and  I  heard  voices  and  cries,  and  saw  a  faint  light,  and 
knew  I  was  freed.  In  a  twinkling  I  felt  myself  seized  and 
drawn  out,  amid  a  murmur  of  cries  and  exclamations.  The 
cloak  was  plucked  from  my  head,  and,  dazzled  and  half  blind,  I 
found  half  a  dozen  faces  gaping  and  staring  at  me. 

"  Why,  mon  Dieu !  it  is  the  gentleman  who  departed  this 
morning !"  cried  a  woman ;  and  she  threw  up  her  hands  in  as- 
tonishment. 

I  looked  at  her.  She  was  the  woman  of  the  house.  My 
throat  was  dry  and  parched,  my  lips  were  swollen ;  but  at  the 
second  attempt  I  managed  to  tell  her  to  untie  me. 

She  complied,  amid  fresh  exclamations  of  surprise  and  aston- 
ishment. Then,  as  I  was  so  stiff  and  benumbed  as  to  be  pow- 
erless, they  lifted  me  to  the  door  of  the  stable,  where  one  set  a 
stool  and  another  brought  a  cup  of  water.  This  and  the  cold 
air  restored  me,  and  in  a  minute  or  two  I  was  able  to  stand. 
Meanwhile  they  pressed  me  with  questions;  but  I  was  giddy 
and  confused,  and  could  not  for  a  few  minutes  collect  myself. 
By-and-by,  however,  a  person  who  came  up  with  an  air  of  im- 
portance, and  pushed  aside  the  crowd  of  clowns  and  stable- 
helpers  that  surrounded  me,  helped  me  to  find  my  voice. 


-i"  THE    RED    COCKADK 

"What  is  it?"  he  said.  u  What  is  it,  monsieur?  What 
brought  you  in  the  stable?" 

The  woman  who  kept  the  inn  answered  for  me  that  she  did 
not  know  ;  that  one  of  the  men  going  to  get  hay  had  struck  his 
fork  into  my  leg,  and  so  found  me. 

"  But  who  is  he  ?"  the  new-comer  asked,  imperatively.  ll« 
was  a  tall,  thin  man,  with  a  sour  face  and  small,  suspicious 
eyes. 

"  I  am  the  Vicomte  de  Saux,"  I  answered. 

"  Eh  !"  he  said,  prolonging  the  syllable.  "  And  how  came 
you,  M.  Ic  Vicomte — if  that  be  your  name — in  the  stable  ?" 

"  I  have  been  robbed,"  I  muttered. 

"Robbed!"  he  answered,  with  a  sniff.  "Bah!  monsieur;  in 
this  commune  we  have  no  robbers." 

"Still,  I  have  been  robbed,"  I  answered,  stupidly. 

For  answer,  before  I  knew  what  he  was  about,  he  plunged 
his  hand,  without  ceremony  or  leave,  into  the  pocket  of  my  coat 
and  brought  out  a  purse.  He  held  it  up  for  all  to  see.  "  Robbed  .'" 
lie  said,  in  a  tone  of  irony.  "I  think  not,  monsieur;  I  think 
not !" 

I  looked  at  the  purse  in  astonishment ;  then,  mechanically 
putting  my  hand  into  my  pocket,  I  produced  first  one  thing, 
and  then  another,  and  stared  at  them.  He  was  right  —  I  had 
not  been  robbed.  Snuffbox,  handkerchief,  my  watch  and  seals, 
my  knife,  and  a  little  mirror  and  book — all  were  there  ! 

"And  now  I  come  to  think  of  it,"  the  woman  said,  speaking 
suddenly,  "  there  are  a  pair  of  saddle-bags  in  the  honse  that 
must  belong  to  the  gentleman.  I  was  wondering  a  while  ago 
whose  they  were." 

"They  are  mine!"  I  cried,  memory  and  sense  returning — • 
"  they  are  mine  !  But  the  ladies  who  were  with  me  ? — th«^ 
have  not  started?" 

"They  went  these  three  hours  back,"  the  woman  answered, 
staring  at  me.  "And  I  could  have  sworn  that  monsieur  \\«  -nt 
with  them.  lint,  to  be  sure,  it  was  only  just  light,  and  a  mis- 
take is  soon  made." 

A  thought  that  should  have  occurred  to  me  before — a  horri- 
ble thought — darted  its  sting  into  my  heart.  I  plunged  my 


A    POOR    FIGURE  271 

band  into  the  inner  pocket  of  ray  coat,  and  drew  it  out  empty. 
The  commission — the  commission  to  which  I  had  trusted  was 
gone  ! 

I  uttered  a  cry  of  rage  and  glared  round  me.  "  What  is  it  ?" 
said  the  sour  man,  meeting  my  eyes. 

"  My  papers  !"  I  answered,  almost  gnashing  my  teeth  as  I 
thought  how  I  had  been  tricked  and  treated.  I  saw  it  all  now. 
"  My  papers !" 

"  Well  ?"  he  said. 

"  They  are  gone  !     I  have  been  robbed  of  them !" 

"  Indeed !"  he  said,  dryly.  "  That  remains  to  be  proved, 
monsieur." 

I  thought  that  he  meant  that  I  might  be  mistaken,  as  I  had  been 
mistaken  before  ;  and,  to  make  certain,  I  turned  out  the  pocket; 

"  No,"  he  said,  as  dryly  as  before.  "  I  see  that  they  are  not 
there.  But  the  point  is,  monsieur,  were  they  ever  there  ?" 

I  looked  at  him. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  that  is  the  point,  monsieur.  Where  are 
your  papers  ?" 

"  I  tell  you  I  have  been  robbed  of  them  !"  I  cried,  in  a  rage. 

"  And  I  say,  that  remains  to  be  proved,"  he  answerefd.  "And 
until  it  is  proved,  you  do  not  leave  here.  That  is  all,  monsieur, 
and  it  is  simple." 

"  And  who,"  I  said,  indignantly,  "  are  you,  I  should  like  to 
know,  monsieur,  who  stop  travellers  on  the  highway  and  ask 
for  papers  ?" 

"  Merely  the  President  of  the  Local  Committee,"  he  replied. 

"  And  do  you  suppose,"  I  said,  fuming  at  his  folly,  "  that  I 
bound  my  hands  and  stifled  myself  under  that  hay  on  purpose  ? 
On  purpose  to  pass  through  your  wretched  village  ?" 
>•  "  I  suppose  nothing,  monsieur,"  he  answered,  coolly.  "  But 
this  is  the  road  to  Turin,  where  M.  d'Artois  is  said  to  be  col- 
lecting the  disaffected ;  and  to  Nimes,  where  mischievous  per- 
sons are  flaunting  the  red  cockade.  And  without  papers  no 
one  passes." 

"But  what  will  you  do  with  me?"  I  asked,  seeing  that  the 
clowns  who  gaped  round  us  regarded  him  as  nothing  less  than 
a  Solomon. 

14 


27:2  THE    RED    COCKADE 

"  Detain  you,  M.  le  Vicomtc,  until  you  procure  papers,"  ho 
answered. 

"  But,  mon  Dieuf"  I  said.  "  That  is  not  so  easily  done  here. 
Who  is  likely  to  know  me?" 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Monsieur  does  not  leave  with- 
out papers,"  he  said.  "  That  is  all." 

And  he  spoke  truly ;  that  was  all.  In  vain  I  laid  the  facts 
before  him,  and  asked  if  any  one  would  voluntarily  suffer, 
merely  to  hide  his  lack  of  papers,  what  I  had  undergone ;  in 
vain  I  asked  if  the  state  in  which  I  had  been  found  was  not  it- 
self proof  that  I  had  been  robbed  ;  if  a  man  could  tie  his  own 
hands  and  pile  hay  on  himself.  In  vain  even  that  I  said  I  knew 
who  had  robbed  me ;  the  last  statement  only  made  matters  worse. 

"Indeed!"  he  said,  ironically.     "Then,  pray,  who  was  it?" 

"  The  rogue  Froment !     Froment  of  Nimes  !" 

••  He  is  not  in  this  country." 

"  Indeed  !     I  saw  him  yesterday,"  I  answered. 

"Then  that  settles  the  matter,"  the  Committccman  an- 
swered, with  a  grim  smile ;  and  his  little  court  smiled  too. 
"  After  that  we  certainly  cannot  lose  sight  of  M.  le  Vicomte." 

And  so  well  did  he  keep  his  word  that  when,  to  avoid  the 
cold  that  began  to  pierce  me,  I  went  into  the  wretched  inn  and 
sat  down  on  the  hearth  to  think  over  the  position,  two  of  the 
yokels  accompanied  me;  and  when  I  went  out  again  and  stood 
looking  distrustfully  up  and  down  the  road,  two  more  were  at 
my  elbow  as  by  magic.  Whether  I  turned  this  way  or  that 
one  was  sure  to  spring  up,  and  if  I  walked  too  far  from  the 
house  would  touch  me  on  the  arm  and  gruffly  order  me  back. 
Mont  Aigoual  itself,  lifting  its  crest,  bleak  and  stern  and  cold, 
above  the  valley,  was  not  more  sure  than  their  attendance,  or 
more  immovable. 

This  added  to  my  irritation,  and  for  a  time  I  was  like  a  mad- 
man. Deluded  by  Madame  St.  Alais  and  robbed  by  Froment 
— who,  I  felt  sure,  had  taken  my  place,  and  was  now  rolling  at 
his  case  through  Sumene  and  Ganges  with  my  commission  in 
his  pocket — I  strode  up  and  down  the  road,  the  road  that  \\.ts 
my  prison,  in  a  fever  of  rage  and  chagrin.  Madamc's  ingrati- 
tude, my  own  easiness,  the  villagers'  stupidity,  I  execrated  all 


A    POOR    FIGURE  273 

in  turn ;  most,  perhaps,  the  inaction  to  which  they  condemned 
me.  I  had  escaped  with  my  life,  and  for  that  should  have  been 
thankful ;  but  no  man  cares  to  be  duped.  And  one  day,  two 
days,  three  days  passed  ;  it  froze  and  thawed,  snowed  and  was 
fine  ;  still,  while  the  carriage  bowled  along  the  road  to  Nimes, 
and  carried  my  mistress  farther  and  farther  from  me,  I  lay  a 
prisoner  in  this  wretched  hamlet.  I  grew  to  loathe  the  squalid 
inn  in  which  1  kicked  my  heels  through  the  cold  hours,  the 
muddy  road  that  ran  by  it,  the  mean  row  of  hovels  they  called 
the  village.  All  day,  and  whenever  I  went  abroad,  the  clowns 
dogged  and  flouted  me,  thinking  it  sport ;  each  evening  the 
Committee  came  to  stare  and  question.  A  house  this  way,  a 
house  that  way,  were  my  boundaries,  while  the  world  moved 
beyond  the  mountains,  and  France  throbbed,  and  I  knew  not 
what  might  be  in  hand  to  separate  Denise  from  me.  No  won- 
der that  I  almost  chafed  myself  into  madness. 

I  had  left  my  horse  at  Milhau,  whence  the  landlord  had  un- 
dertaken to  forward  it  to  Ganges  within  a  couple  of  days  by 
the  hand  of  an  acquaintance  who  would  be  going  that  way.  I 
expected  it  every  hour,  therefore,  and  my  only  hope  was  that 
its  conductor  might  be  able  to  identify  me,  since  half  a  hun- 
dred at  Milhau  had  seen  my  commission  or  heard  it  read.  But 
the  horse  did  not  arrive,  nor  any  one  from  Milhau ;  and  fearing 
that  the  release  of  the  two  ladies  had  caused  trouble  there,  my 
heart  sank  still  lower.  I  could  not  easily  communicate  with  Ca- 
hors,  and  the  Committee,  with  rustic  independence  and  obsti- 
nacy, would  neither  let  me  go  nor  send  me  to  Nimes,  where  I 
could  be  identified.  It  was  in  vain  I  pressed  them. 

"  No,  no,"  the  sour-faced  Committeeman  answered  the  first 
time  I  raised  the  question.  "  Presently  some  one  who  knows 
you  will  come  by.  In  the  meantime  have  patience." 

"  M.  le  Vicomte  is  a  gentleman  many  would  know,"  the 
woman  of  the  house  chimed  in,  looking  at  me  with  her  arms 
wrapped  up  in  her  apron  and  her  head  on  one  side. 

"To  be  sure  !  To  be  sure  !"  the  crowd  agreed;  and,  rubbing 
their  calves,  the  members  of  the  Committee  followed  her  lead, 
and  looked  at  me  with  satisfaction,  as  at  something  that  did 
them  credit. 


274  THE    RED    COCKAHK 

Their  stupid  complacency  nearly  drove  me  mad  ;  but  to  what 
purpose?  "After  all,  you  are  very  well  here/'  the  first  speaker 
would  say,  shrugging  his  shoulders.  "You  are  very  well  h- 

"Better  than  undex  the  hay  !"  the  man  who  had  pricked  my 
leg  was  wont  to  answer. 

And  on  that — this  was  a  nightly  joke — a  general  laugh  would 
follow,  and  with  another  admonition  to  be  patient  the  Com- 
mittee would  take  its  leave. 

Or  sometimes  the  argument  in  the  kitchen  took  a  harsher  and 
more  dangerous  turn,  and  one  and  another  would  recall  for  my 
benefit  old  talcs  of  the  dragooning,  and  Villars,  and  Henviek — 
tales  at  which  the  blood  crept,  of  horrible  cruelties  done  and 
suffered,  of  stern  mountain  men  and  brave  women  who  faced 
the  worst  that  kings  could  do,  for  the  faith  that  they  had 
chosen ;  of  a  great  cause  crushed  but  not  destroyed  ;  of  a  whole 
people  trodden  down  in  dust  and  blood,  and  yet  living  and 
growing  strong. 

"And  do  you  think  that  after  this,"  the  speaker  would  cry, 
when  he  had  told  me  these  things  with  flashing  eyes — ll 
things  that  his  grandfathers  had  done  and  suffered — "do  you 
think  that  after  this  we  are  not  concerned  in  this  business?  Do 
you  think  that  now,  monsieur,  when,  after  all  these  years,  ven- 
geance is  in  our  hand  and  our  persecutors  are  tottering,  we  will 
sit  still  and  sec  them  set  up  again?  Bishops  and  captains, 
canons  and  cardinals,  where  are  they  now  ?  Where  are  the 
lands  they  stole  from  us?  Gone  from  them!  Win-re  are  the 
tithes  they  took  with  blood?  Taken  from  them!  Where  is 
St.  Kti-'ime,  whose  father  they  persecuted?  With  his  foot  on 
their  necks!  And,  after  this,  do  you  think  that,  with  all  their 
processions  and  their  idols  and  tlieir  Corpus  Christi,  they  shall 
defy  us  and  set  up  tlieir  rule  again?  No,  monsieur,  no !" 

"But  there  is  no  question  of  that,"  I  said,  mildly. 

"There  is  great  question  of  that,"  was  tfie  stern  answer. 
"  In  Nimes  and  Montauban,  at  Avignon  and  at  Aries !  We 
who  live  in  the  mountains  have  too  often  heard  the  storm  gath- 
ering in  the  plain  to  be  mistaken.  These  preachings  and  pro- 
cessions and  weeping  virgins,  this  cry  of  l>la<pliemy — what  do 
they  mean,  monsieur  ?  Blood  !  blood  !  blood  !  It  has  been  so 


•'  KAMI    EVENING    THE    COMMITTEE    CAME    TO    STAKE    AND    QUESTION  " 


A    POOR    FIGURE  277 

a  score  of  times,  it  is  so  now  !  But  this  time  blood  will  not  be 
shed  on  one  side  only  !" 

I  listened  and  marvelled.  I  began  to  understand  that  the 
same  word  meant  one  thing  in  one  man's  mouth,  and  in  another 
man's  mouth  another  thing :  and  that  that  which  worked  easily 
and  smoothly  in  the  north  might  in  the  south  roll  hideously 
through  fire  and  blood.  In  Quercy  we  had  lost  two  or  three 
chateaux  and  a  handful  of  lives,  and  for  a  few  hours  the  mob 
had  got  out  of  hand — all  with  little  enthusiasm.  But  here — 
here  I  seemed  to  stand  on  the  brink  of  a  great  furnace  under 
which  the  fires  of  persecution  still  smouldered ;  I  felt  the  scorch- 
ing breath  of  passion  on  my  cheek,  and  saw  through  the  white- 
hot  scum  old  enmities  seething  with  new  and  fiercer  ambitions, 
old  factions  with  new  bigotries.  'I  had  heard  Froment,  now  I 
heard  these ;  it  remained  only  to  be  seen  whether  Froment  had 
his  followers. 

In  the  meantime,  pent  up  in  this  place,  I  found  little  comfort 
in  such  predictions ;  I  lived  on  my  heart,  and  the  better  part  of 
a  fortnight  went  by.  The  woman  at  the  inn  was  well  satisfied 
to  keep  me  ;  I  paid,  and  guests  were  rare.  And  the  Committee 
took  pride  in  me ;  I  was  a  living,  walking  token  of  their  pow- 
ers, and  of  the  importance  of  their  village.  Now,  to  the  mingled 
misery  and  absurdity  of  my  position,  the  anxiety  on  mademoi- 
selle's account,  which  this  news  of  Nimes  caused  me,  added  the 
last  intolerable  touch,  and  I  determined  at  all  risks  to  escape. 

That  I  had  no  horse,  and  that  at  Sumene  or  Ganges  I  should 
inevitably  be  detained,  had  hitherto  held  me  back  from  the  at- 
tempt; now  I  could  bear  the  position  no  longer,  and,  after  weigh- 
ing all  the  chances,  I  determined  to  slip  away  some  evening  at 
sunset  and  make  my  way  on  foot  to  Milhau.  The  villagers 
would  be  sure  to  pursue  me  in  the  direction  of  Nimes,  whither 
they  knew  that  I  was  bound  ;  and  even  if  a  party  took  the  other 
road,  I  should  have  many  chances  of  escape  in  the  darkness.  I 
counted  on  reaching  Milhau  soon  after  daybreak,  and  there,  if 
the  mayor  stood  my  friend,  I  might  regain  my  horse,  and,  with 
credentials,  travel  to  Nimes  by  the  same  or  another  road. 

It  seemed  feasible,  and  that  very  evening  fortune  favored  me. 
The  man  who  should  have  kept  me  company  upset  a  pot  of 


278  THE    RED    COCKADE 

boiling  water  over  his  foot,  and,  without  giving  a  thought  to  me 
or  his  duty,  went  off  groaning  to  his  house.  A  moment  later 
the  woman  of  the  inn  was  called  out  by  a  neighbor,  and  at  the 
very  hour  I  would  have  chosen  I  found  myself  alone.  Still,  I 
knew  that  I  had  not  a  moment  to  lose;  instantly,  therefore,  I 
put  on  my  cloak,  and  reaching  down  my  pistols  from  a  shelf  on 
which  they  had  been  placed,  I  put  a  little  food  in  my  pocket 
and  sneaked  out  at  the  rear  of  the  house.  A  dog  was  kennelled 
there,  but  it  knew  me  and  wagged  its  tail,  and  in  two  minutes, 
after  warily  skirting  the  backs  of  the  houses,  I  gained  the  road 
to  Milhau,  and  stood  free  and  alone. 

Night  had  fallen,  but  it  was  not  quite  dark  ;  and,  dreading 
every  eye,  I  hurried  on  through  the  dusk,  now  peering  anxious- 
ly forward,  and  now  looking  and  listening  for  the  first  sounds 
of  pursuit.  For  a  few  minutes  the  fear  of  that  took  up  all  my 
thoughts;  later,  when  the  one  twinkling  light  that  marked  the 
village  had  set  behind  me,  and  night  and  the  silent  waste  <>f 
mountains  had  swallowed  me  up,  a  sense  of  eeriness,  of  loneli- 
ness, very  depressing,  took  possession  of  me.  Denise  was  at 
Nimes,  and  I  was  moving  the  other  way  ;  what  accidents  might 
not  befall  me,  how  many  things  might  not  happen  to  postpone 
my  return?  In  the  meantime  she  lay  at  the  mercy  of  her 
in  .ther  and  brothers,  with  all  the  traditions  of  her  family,  all 
the  prejudices  of  maidenhood  and  her  education  against  my 
suit.  To  what  use,  in  this  imbroglio,  might  not  her  hand  be 
put?  Or,  if  that  were  not  in  question,  what  in  that  city  <>f 
strife,  in  that  fierce  struggle,  of  which  the  peasants  had  fore- 
warned me,  might  not  be  the  fate  of  a  young  girl  ? 

Spurred  by  these  thoughts,  I  pressed  on  fevcrishlv,  and  had 
gone,  perhaps,  a  league,  when  a  sharp  sound  made  by  a  horse's 
shoe  striking  a  stone  caught  my  ear.  It  came  from  the  front, 
and  I  drew  to  the  side  of  the  road,  and  crouched  low  to  let  the 
traveller  go  by.  I  fancied  that  I  could  distinguish  the  train]) 
of  three  horses,  but  when  the  men  loomed  darkly  into  sight  I 
could  see  only  two  figures. 

Perhaps  I  rose  a  little  too  high  in  my  anxiety  to  see.  At  any 
rate,  I  had  not  counted  on  the  horses,  the  nearer  of  which,  as  it 
passed  me,  swerved  violently  from  me.  The  rider  was  almost 


IT  IS  I,  BUTON,'  CAME  THE  ANSWER.     '  I  HAVE  YOUR  HORSE,  M. 
LK  TICOMTB'" 


A    POOR    FIGURE  281 

dismounted  by  the  violence  of  the  movement,  but  in  a  twinkling 
had  his  horse  again  in  hand,  and  before  I  knew  what  I  was 
doing  was  urging  it  upon  me.  I  dared  not  move,  for  to  move 
was  to  betray  my  presence  ;  but  this  did  not  avail,  for  in  a  min- 
ute the  rider  made  out  the  outline  of  my  figure. 

"ffolaf"  he  cried,  sharply.  "Who  are  you  there,  who  lie  in 
wait  to  break  men's  necks  ?  Speak,  man,  or — " 

But  I  caught  his  bridle.  "  M.  de  Geol !"  I  cried,  my  heart 
beating  against  my  ribs. 

"Stand  back!"  he  cried,  peering  at  me.  He  did  not  know 
my  voice.  "  Who  are  you?  Who  is  it?" 

"  It  is  I,  M.  de  Saux,"  I  answered,  joyfully. 

"  Why,  man,  I  thought  that  you  were  at  Nimes,"  he  ex- 
claimed, in  a  tone  of  great  astonishment,  "  these  ten  days  past ! 
We  have  your  horse  here." 

"  Here  ?     My  horse  ?" 

"  To  be  sure.  Your  good  friend  here  has  it  in  charge  from 
Milhau.  But  where  have  you  been  ?  And  what  are  you  doing 
here  ?"  he  continued,  suspiciously. 

"  I  lost  my  passport.     It  was  stolen  by  Froment." 

He  whistled. 

"  And  at  Villeraugues  they  stopped  me,"  I  continued.  "  1 
have  been  there  since." 

"Ah,"  he  said,  dryly.  "That  comes  of  travelling  in  bad 
company,  M.  le  Vicomte.  And  to-night  I  suppose  you  were — " 

"  Going  to  get  away,"  I  answered,  bluntly.  "  But  you — I 
thought  that  you  had  passed  long  ago  ?" 

"  No,"  he  said.  "  I  was  detained.  Now  we  have  metr  I 
would  advise  you  to  mount  and  return  with  me." 

"  I  will,"  I  said,  briskly,  "  with  the  greatest  pleasure.  And 
you  will  be  able  to  tell  them  who  I  am." 

"  I  ?"  he  answered.  "  No,  indeed.  I  do  not  know.  I  only 
know  who  you  told  me  you  were." 

I  fell  to  earth  again,  and  for  a  moment  stood  staring  through  the 
darkness  at  him.  A  moment  only.  Then  out  of  the  darkness 
came  a  voice.  "  Have  no  fear,  M.  le  Vicomte,  I  will  speak  for  you." 

I  started  and  stared.  "  Mon  Dieuf"  I  said,  trembling.  "  Who 
spoke  ?" 


THE    RED    COCKADE 

"  It  is  I — Buton,"  came  the  answer.  "  I  have  your  horse,  M. 
If  Yicomtc." 

It  was  Buton,  the  blacksmith ;  Captain  Buton,  of  the  Com- 
mittee. 

This  for  the  time  cut  the  thread  of  my  difficulties.  When 
we  rode  into  the  village  ten  minutes  later,  the  Committee,  awed 
by  the  credentials  which  Buton  carried,  accepted  his  explanation 
at  once,  and  raised  no  further  objection  to  my  journey.  So 
twelve  hours  afterwards  we  three,  thus  strangely  thrown  to- 
gether, passed  through  Sumene.  We  slept  at  Sauvc,  and  pres- 
ently leaving  behind  us  the  late  winter  of  the  mountains,  with 
its  frost  and  snow,  began  to  descend  in  sunshine  the  western 
slope  of  the  Rhone  Valley.  All  day  we  rode  through  balmy  air, 
between  fields  and  gardens  and  olive  groves,  the  white  dust, 
the  white  houses,  the  white  cliffs  eloquent  of  the  south.  And 
a  little  before  sunset  we  came  in  sight  of  Nimes,  and  hailed 
the  end  of  a  journey  that,  for  me,  had  not  been  without  its  ad- 
ventures. 


CHAPTER  XIX 
AT    NIMES 

IT  will  be  believed  that  I  looked  on  the  city  with  no  common 
emotions.  I  had  heard  enough  at  Villeraugues — and  to  that 
enough  M.  de  Geol  had^added  by  the  way  a  thousand  details — 
to  satisfy  me  that  here  and  not  in  the  north,  here  in  the  Gard, 
and  the  Bouches-du-Rhone,  among  the  olive  groves  and  white 
dust  of  the  south,  and  not  among  the  wheat-fields  and  pastures 
of  the  north,  the  fate  of  the  nation  hung  in  the  balance ;  and 
that  not  in  Paris — where  men  would  and  yet  would  not,  where 
Mirabeau  and  Lafayette,  in  fear  of  the  mob,  took  one  day  a  step 
towards  the  King,  and  the  next,  fearful  lest  restored  he  should 
punish,  retraced  it — could  the  convulsion  be  arrested,  but  here  ! 
Here,  where  the  warm  imagination  of  the  Provencal  still  saw 
something  holy  in  things  once  holy,  and  faction  bound  men  to 
faith. 

Hitherto  the  stream  of  revolution  had  met  with  no  check. 
Obstacles  apparently  the  strongest — the  King,  the  nobles — had 
crumbled  and  sunk  before  it,  almost  without  a  struggle  ;  it  re- 
mained to  be  seen  whether  the  third  and  last  of  the  governing 
powers,  the  Church,  would  fare  better.  Clearly,  if  Froment 
were  right,  and  faith  must  be  met  by  faith,  and  bigotry  of  one 
kind  be  opposed  by  bigotry  of  another  kind,  here  in  the  valley 
of  the  Rhone,  where  the  Church  still  kept  its  hold,  lay  the  ma- 
terials nearest  to  the  enthusiast's  hand.  In  that  case — and  with 
this  in  my  mind  I  took  my  first  long  look  at  the  city,  and  the 
wide,  low  plain  that  lay  beyond  it,  bathed  in  the  sunset  light — 
in  that  case,  from  this  spot  might  fly  a  torch  to  kindle  France  ! 
Hence  might  start  within  the  next  few  days  a  conflagration  as 
wide  as  the  land ;  and,  that  taken  up,  and  roaring  ever  higher 


284  THE    RED    COCKADE 

and  higher  through  all  La  Vendee,  and  Brittany,  and  the  Cotes- 
du-Xord,  might  swiftly  ring  round  Paris  with  a  circle  of  flame. 

Once  get  it  fairly  alight.  But  there  lay  the  doubt;  and  I 
looked  again,  and  looked  with  eager  curiosity,  at  this  citv  fr«>m 
which  so  much  was  expected ;  this  far-stretching  city  of  Hat 
roofs  and  white  houses,  trending  gently  down  from  the  last 
spurs  of  the  Cevcnnes  to  the  Rhone  plain.  North  of  it,  in  the 
outskirts,  rose  three  low  hills,  the  midmost  crowned  with  a 
tower,  the  easternmost  casting  a  shadow  almost  to  the  distant 
river;  from  these,  eastward  and  southward,  the  city  sloped. 
And  these  hills,  and  the  roads  near  us,  and  the  plain  already 
verdant,  and  the  great  workshops  that  here  and  there  rose  in 
the  faubourgs,  all,  as  we  approached,  seemed  to  teem  with  life 
and  people ;  with  people  coming  and  going,  alone  and  in  groups, 
sauntering  beyond  the  walls  for  pleasure,  or  hastening  on  busi- 
ness. 

Of  these,  I  noticed,  all  wore  a  badge  of  some  kind ;  many 
the  tricolor,  but  more  a  red  ribbon,  a  red  tuft,  a  red  cockade — 
emblems  at  sight  of  which  my  companions'  faces  grew  darker 
and  ever  darker.  Another  thing  characteristic  of  the  j>' 
the  tinkling  of  many  bells,  calling  to  vespers — though  I  found 
the  sound  fall  pleasantly  on  the  evening  air — was  as  little  to 
their  taste.  They  growled  together  and  increased  their  pace, 
the  result  of  which  was  that  insensibly  I  fell  to  the  rear.  A< 
we  entered  the  strc'ets  the  tratlic  that  met  us,  and  the  keenness 
with  which  I  looked  about  me,  increased  the  distance  l>et\\ 
us;  presently,  a  long  line  of  carts  and  a  company  of  National 
Guards  intervening,  I  found  myself  riding  alone,  a  hundred 
behind  them. 

1  uas  not  sorry  ;  the  novelty  of  the  shifting  crowd,  the  chang- 
ing faces,  the  southern  patois,  the  moving  string  of  soldiers, 
nits,  workmen,  women,  amused  me.  I  was  less  sorry  when 
bv-and-bv  something — something  which  I  had  dimly  imagined 
might  happen  when  I  reached  Mines — took  real  shape  there,  in 
the  crooked  street,  and  struck  me,  as  it  were,  in  the  face.  Al 
1  pa<>ed  under  a  barred  window  a  little  above  the  roadway,  a 
window  on  which  my  eyes  alighted  for  an  instant,  a  white  hand 
waved  a  handkerchief — for  an  instant  only,  just  long  enough 


AT    N1MES  285 

for  me  to  take  in  the  action  and  think  of  Denise.  Then,  as  I 
jerked  the  reins,  the  handkerchief  was  gone,  the  window  was 
empty,  on  either  side  of  me  the  crowd  chattered  and  jostled  on 
its  way. 

I  pulled  up  mechanically  and  looked  round,  my  heart  beat- 
ing. I  could  see  no  one  near  me  for  whom  the  signal  could  be 
intended;  and  yet  it  seemed  odd.  I  could  hardly  believe  in 
such  good-fortune,  or  that  I  had  found  Denise  so  soon.  How- 
ever, as  my  eyes  returned  doubtfully  to  the  window,  the  hand- 
kerchief flickered  in  it  again ;  and  this  time  the  signal  was  so 
unmistakably  meant  for  me  that,  shamed  out  of  my  prudence,  I 
pushed  my  horse  through  the  crowd  to  the  door,  and,  hastily 
dismounting,  threw  the  rein  to  an  urchin  who  stood  near.  I 
was  shy  of  asking  him  who  lived  in  the  house,  and,  with  a 
single  glance  at  the  dull  white  front  and  the  row  of  barred 
windows  that  ran  below  the  balcony,  I  resigned  myself  to  fort- 
une and  knocked. 

On  the  instant  the  door  flew  open  and  a  servant  appeared. 
I  had  not  considered  what  I  would  say,  and  for  a  moment  I 
stared  at  him  foolishly.  Then,  at  a  venture,  on  the  spur  of  the 
moment,  I  asked  if  madame  received. 

He  answered  very  civilly  that  she  did,  and  held  the  door  open 
for  me  to  enter. 

I  did  so,  confused  and  wondering,  none  the  less  when,  having 
crossed  a  spacious  hall,  paved  with  black  and  white  marble, 
and  followed  him  up  a  staircase,  I  found  everything  I  saw  round 
me,  from  the  man's  quiet  livery  to  the  mouldings  of  the  ceiling, 
wearing  the  stamp  of  elegance  and  refinement.  Pedestals  sup- 
porting marble  busts  stood  in  the  angles  of  the  staircase  ;  there 
were  orange -trees  in  jars  in  the  hall,  and  antique  fragments 
adorned  the  walls.  However,  I  saw  these  only  in  passing ;  in  a 
moment  I  reached  the  head  of  the  stairs,  and  the  man,  opening 
a  door,  stood  aside. 

I  entered  the  room,  my  eyes  shining,  in  a  dream,  an  impos- 
sible dream,  that  held  possessfon  of  me  for  one  moment,  that 
Denise — not  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Alais,  but  Denise,  the  girl  who 
loved  me  and  with  whom  I  had  never  been  alone — might  be  there 
to  receive  roe.  Instead,  a  stranger  rose  slowly  from  a  seat  in  one 


l-'s''>  THE  RED  COCKADE 

of  the  window  bays,  and,  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  came  for- 
ward to  meet  me — a  strange  lady,  tall,  grave,  and  very  hand- 
some, whose  dark  eyes  scanned  me  seriously,  while  the  blood 
rose  a  little  to  her  pure  olive  cheek. 

Seeing  that  she  was  a  stranger,  I  began  to  stammer  an  apolo- 
gy for  my  intrusion.  She  courtesied.  "  Monsieur  need  not  ex- 
cuse himself,"  she  said,  smiling.  "  lie  was  expected,  and  a 
meal  is  ready.  If  you  will  follow  Gervais,"  she  continued,  "lie 
will  take  you  to  a  room  where  you  can  remove  the  dust  of  the 
road." 

"  But,  madame,"  I  stammered,  still  hesitating,  "  I  am  afraid 
that  I  am  trespassing." 

She  shook  her  head  smiling.  "  Be  so  good,"  she  said,  and 
waved  her  hand  towards  the  door. 

"But  my  horse,"  I  answered, standing  bewildered.  "I  have 
left  it  in  the  street." 

"It  will  be  cared  for,"  she  said.  "Will  you  be  so  kind?" 
And  she  pointed  with  a  little  imperious  gesture  to  the  door. 

I  went  then  in  utter  amazement.  The  man  who  had  led  me 
up-stairs  was  outside.  He  preceded  me  along  a  wide,  airy  pas- 
sage to  a  bedroom,  in  which  I  found  all  that  I  needed  to  refresh 
my  toilet.  He  took  my  coat  and  hat,  and  attended  me  with  the 
skill  of  one  trained  to  such  offices ;  and,  in  a  state  of  desperate 
bewilderment,  I  suffered  it.  But  when,  recovering  a  little  from 
my  confusion,  I  opened  my  mouth  to  ask  a  question,  he  begged 
me  to  excuse  him  ;  madame  would  explain. 

"Madame — "  I  said, and  looked  at  him  interrogatively,  and 
waited  for  him  to  fill  the  blank. 

"  Yes,  monsieur,  madame  will  explain,"  he  answered,  glibly, 
and  without  a  smile ;  and  then,  seeing  that  I  was  ready,  he  led 
me  back,  not  to  the  room  I  had  left,  but  to  another. 

I  went  in,  like  a  man  in  a  dream;  not  doubting,. however,  that 
now  I  should  have  an  answer  to  the  riddle.  But  I  found  none. 
The  room  was  spacious,  and  parquet -floored,  with  three  hiirli, 
narrow  windows,  of  which  one, 'partly  open,  let  in  the  murmur 
of  the  street.  A  small  wood  fire  burned  on  a  wide  hearth  be- 
tween carved  marble  pillars;  and  in  one  corner  of  the  room 
stood  a  harpsichord,  harp,  and  music-stand.  Nearer  the  fire  a 


AT    N1MES  287 

« 

small  round  table,  daintily  laid  for  supper,  and  lighted  by  can- 
dles placed  in  old  silver  sconces,  presented  a  charming  picture  ; 
and  by  it  stood  the  lady  I  had  seen. 

"  Are  you  cold  ?"  she  said,  coming  forward  frankly,  as  I  ad- 
vanced. 

"No,  madame." 

"Then  we  will  sit  down  at  once,"  she  answered.  And  she 
pointed  to  the  table. 

I  took  the  seat  she  indicated,  and  saw  with  astonishment  that 
covers  were  laid  for  two  only.  She  caught  the  look,  and  blushed 
faintly,  and  her  lip  trembled  as  if  with  the  effort  to  suppress  a 
smile.  But  she  said  nothing,  and  any  thought  to  her  disadvan- 
tage which  might  have  entered  my  mind  was  anticipated,  not 
only  by  the  sedate  courtesy  of  her  manner,  but  by  the  appear- 
ance of  the  room,  the  show  of  wealth  and  ease  that  surrounded 
her,  and  the  very  respectability  of  the  butler  who  waited  on  us. 

"  Have  you  ridden  far  to-day  ?"  she  said,  crumbling  a  roll  with 
her  fingers  as  if  she  were  not  quite  free  from  nervousness,  and 
looking  now  at  the  table  and  now  again  at  me  in  a  way  almost 
appealing. 

"  From  Sauve,  madame,"  I  answered. 

"  Ah  !     And  you  propose  to  go  ?" 

"  No  farther." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  it,"  she  said,  with  a  charming  smile.  "  You 
are  a  stranger  in  Ninies  ?" 

"  I  was.     I  do  not  feel  so  now." 

"Thank  you,"  she  answered,  her  eyes  meeting  mine  without 
reserve.  "  That  you  may  feel  more  at  home,  I  am  going  pres- 
ently to  tell  you  my  name.  Yours  I  do  not  ask." 

*"  You  do  not  know  it?"  I  cried. 

"  No,"  she  said,  laughing  ;  and  I  saw,  as  she  laughed,  that  she 
was  younger  than  I  had  thought ;  that  she  was  little  more  than 
a  girl.  "  Of  course,  you  can  tell  it  me  if  you  please,"  she  add- 
ed, lightly. 

"  Then,  madame,  I  do  please,"  I  answered,  gallantly.  "  I  am 
the  Vicomte  de  Saux,  of  Saux  by  Cahors,  and  am  very  much  at 
your  service." 

She  held  her  hand  suspended,  and  stared  at  me  a  moment  in 


288  THE    RED    COCKADE 

undisguised  astonishment.  I  even  thought  that  I  read  some- 
thing like  terror  in  her  eyes.  Then  she  said,  "  Of  Saux  by 
Cahors  ?" 

"  Yes,  madame,  and  I  am  driven  to  fear,"  I  continued,  seeing 
the  effect  my  words  produced,  "  that  I  am  here  in  the  place  of 
some  one  else." 

"  Oh,  no  !"  she  said.  Then,  her  feelings  seeming  to  find  sud- 
den vent,  she  laughed  and  clapped  her  hands.  "  No,  monsieur," 
she  cried,  gayly,  "  there  is  no  error,  I  assure  you.  On  the  con- 
trary, now  1  know  who  you  are,  I  will  give  you  a  toast.  Al- 
phonse,  fill  M.  le  Vicomte's  glass,  and  then  leave  us !  So !  Now, 
M.  le  Vicomte,"  she  continued,  "  you  must  drink  with  me,  & 
ranglaise,  to — " 

She  paused  and  looked  at  me  slyly.  "  I  am  all  attention, 
madame,"  I  said,  bowing. 

"  To  la  belle  Denise  !"  she  said. 

It  was  my  turn  to  start  and  stare  now,  in  confusion  as  well 
as  surprise.  But  she  only  laughed  the  more,  and,  clapping  hrr 
hands  with  childish  abandon,  bade  me  "  Drink,  monsieur,  drink!" 

I  did  so  bravely,  though  I  colored  under  her  eyes. 

"That  is  well,"  she  said,  as  I  set  down  the  glass.  "\->\v, 
monsieur,  I  shall  be  able — in  the  proper  quarter — to  report  you 
no  recreant." 

"  But,  madame,"  I  said,  "  how  do  you  know  the  proper  quar- 
ter ?" 

"  How  do  I  know  ?"  she  answered,  naively.  "  Ah,  that  is  the 
question." 

But  she  did  not  answer  it,  though  I  remarked  that  from  this 
moment  she  took  a  different  tone  with  me.  She  dropped  much 
of  the  reserve  which  she  had  hitherto  maintained,  and  be^aii  to 
pour  upon  me  a  fire  of  wit  and  badinage,  merriment  and  plai- 
santerie,  against  which  I  defended  myself  as  well  as  I  could, 
where  all  the  advantage  of  knowledge  lay  with  her.  Such  a 
duel  with  so  fair  an  antagonist  had  its  charms,  the  more  so  as 
Denise  and  my  relation  to  her  formed  the  main  object  of  her 
raillery;  yet  I  was  not  sorry  when  a  clock,  striking  eight,  pro- 
duced a  sudden  silence  and  a  change  in  her  as  great  as  that 
had  preceded  it.  H<T  face  grew  almost  sombre,  she 


AT    N1MES  289 

sighed,  and  sat  looking  gravely  before  her.  I  ventured  to  ask 
if  anything  ailed  her. 

"  Only  this,  monsieur,"  she  answered,  "  That  I  must  now  put 
you  to  the  test,  and  you  may  fail  me." 

"  You  wish  me  to  do  something?" 

"  I  wish  you  to  give  me  your  escort,"  she  answered,  "  to  a 
place  and  back  again." 

"  I  am  ready,"  I  cried,  rising  gayly.  "  If  I  were  not  I  should 
be  a  recreant  indeed.  But  I  think,  madame,  that  you  were  go- 
ing to  tell  me  your  name." 

"  I  am  Madame  Catinot,"  she  answered.  And  then — I  do  not 
know  what  she  read  in  my  face — "  I  am  a  widow,"  she  added, 
blushing  deeply.  "  For  the  rest,  you  are  no  wiser." 

"But  always  at  your  service,  madame." 

"So  be  it,"  she  answered,  quietly.  "I  will  meet  you,  M.  le 
Vicomte,  in  the  hall,  if  you  will  presently  descend  thither." 

I  held  the  door  for  her  to  go  out,  and  she  went;  and  wonder- 
ing, and  inexpressibly  puzzled  by  the  strangeness  of  the  advent- 
ure, I  paced  up  and  down  the  room  a  minute,  and  then  followed 
her.  A  hanging  lamp  which  lit  the  hall  showed  her  to  me  stand- 
ing at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  her  hair  hidden  by  a  black  lace 
mantilla,  her  dress  under  a  cloak  of  the  same  dark  color.  The 
man  who  had  admitted  me  gave  me  in  silence  my  cloak  and  hat» 
and  without  a  Word  madame  led  the  way  along  a  passage. 

Over  a  door  at  the  end  of  the  passage  was  a  second  light.  It 
fell  on  my  hat,  as  I  was  about  to  put  it  on,  and  I  started  and 
stood.  Instead  of  the  tricolor  I  had  been  wearing  in  the  hat,  I 
saw  a  small  red  cockade  ! 

Madame  heard  me  stop,  and,  turning,  discovered  what  was  the 
matter.  She  laid  her  hand  on  my  arm,  and  the  hand  trembled. 
"  For  an  hour,  monsieur ;  only  for  an  hour,"  she  breathed  in  my 
ear.  "Give  me  your  arm." 

Somewhat  agitated — I  began  to  scent  danger  and  complica- 
tions— I  put  on  the  hat  and  gave  her  my  arm,  and  in  a  moment 
we  stood  in  the  open  air  in  a  dark,  narrow  passage  between  high 
walls.  She  turned  at  once  to  the  left,  and  we  walked  in  silence 
a  hundred  or  a  hundred  and  fifty  paces,  which  brought  us  to  a 
low -browed  doorway  on  the  same  side,  through  which  a  light 


290  THE    RED    COCK  AUK 

poured  out.  Madame  guiding  me  by  a  slight  pressure,  we 
passed  through  this  and  a  narrow  vestibule  beyond  it,  and  in  a 
moment  I  found  myself,  to  my  astonishment,  in  a  church  half 
full  of  silent  worshippers. 

Madame  enjoined  silence  by  laying  her  finger  on  her  lip,  and 
led  the  way  along  one  of  the  dim  aisles  until  we  came  to  a  va- 
cant chair  beside  a  pillar.  She  signed  to  me  to  stand  by  the 
pillar,  and  herself  knelt  down. 

Left  at  liberty  to  survey  the  scene  and  form  my  conclusions, 
I  looked  about  me  like  a  man  in  a  dream.  The  body  of  the 
church,  faintly  lit,  was  rendered  more  gloomy  by  the  black 
cloaks  and  veils  of  the  vast  kneeling  crowd  that  tilled  this  part 
and  grew  each  moment  more  dense.  The  men  for  the  most  part 
stood  beside  pillars  or  at  the  back  of  the  church,  and  from 
tbese  parts  came  now  and  then  a  low,  stern  muttering,  the  only 
sound  that  broke  the  heavy  silence.  A  red  lamp  burning  before 
tin-  altar  added  one  touch  of  sombre  color  to  the  scene. 

I  had  not  stood  long  before  I  felt  the  silence  and  the  crowd 
and  the  empty  vastnesses  above  us  begin  to  weigh  me  down — 
before  my  heart  began  to  beat  quickly  in  expectation  of  I  knew 
not  what.  And  then  at  last,  when  this  feeling  had  grown  al- 
most intolerable,  out  of  the  silence  about  the  altar  came  the  first 
melancholy  notes,  the  wailing  refrain  of  the  psalm  "  Miserere 
I  Jomine." 

It  had  a  solemn  and  wondrous  effect  as  it  rose  and  fell  in  the 

gloom,  in  the  silence, above  the  heads  of  the  kneeling  multitude, 

who  one  moment  were  there,  and  the  next,  as  the  lights  sank, 

were  gone,  leaving  only  blackness  and  emptiness  and  spa. 

and   that   spasmodic  wailing.      As   the   pleading,  almost  desper- 

i  floated  down  the  long  aisles,  borne  on  the  palpitating 

hearts  of  the  listeners,  a  hand   seemed    to  grasp  the  throat,  the 

•v    dim.  strong   men's   heads   bowed    lower,  and   strong 

men's    hands  trembled.      "Miserere   mei  <  r<-    I  >o- 

mine  !" 

At  last  it  came  to  an  end.  The  psalm  died  down,  and  on  the 
darkness  and  dead  silence  that  succeeded  a  light  flared  up  sud- 
denly in  one  place,  and  showed  a  pale,  keen  t'aee  and  eytfl  that 
burned  as  tie  not  at  the  dim  crowd,  but  into  the  empty 


"SHE    SIGNED    TO    ME    TO    STAND    BY    THE    PILLAR,   AND    HERSELF    KNELT    DOWN" 


AT    N1MES  293 

space  above  them,  whence  grim,  carved  visages  peered  vaguely 
out  of  fretted  vaults.  And  the  preacher  began  to  preach. 

In  a  low  voice  at  first,  and  then  with  little  emotion,  he  spoke 
of  the  two  ways  of  God  with  His  creatures,  of  the  immensity  of 
tho  past  and  the  littleness  of  the  present,  of  the  omnipotence 
before  which  time  and  space  and  men  were  nothing,  of  the 
certainty  that  as  God,  the  Almighty,  the  Everlasting,  the  Ever- 
present,  decreed,  it  was.  And  then,  in  fuller  tones,  he  went  on  to 
speak  of  the  Church,  God's  agent  on  earth,  and  of  the  work 
which  it  had  done  in  past  ages — converting,  protecting,  shield- 
ing the  weak,  staying  the  strong,  baptizing,  marrying,  burying — 
God's  handmaid,  God's  vicegerent.  "  Of  whom  alone  it  comes," 
the  preacher  continued,  raising  his  hand  now,  and  speaking  in  a 
voice  that  throbbed  louder  and  fuller  through  the  spaces  of  the 
church,  "  that  we  are  more  than  animals,  that  knowing  who  is 
behind  the  veil  we  fear  not  temporal  things,  nor  think  of  death 
as  the  worst  possible,  as  do  the  unbelieving ;  but  having  that  on 
which  we  rest,  outside  and  beyond  the  world,  can  view  unmoved 
the  worst  that  the  world  can  do  to  us.  We  believe,  therefore 
we  are  strong  !  We  believe  in  God,  therefore  we  are  stronger 
than  the  world  !  We  believe  in  God,  therefore  we  are  of  God 
and  not  of  the  world !  We  are  above  the  world  !  We  are  above 
the  world,  and  in  the  strength  of  God,  who  is  the  God  of  Hosts, 
shall  subdue  the  world  !" 

lie  paused,  holding  the  crowd  breathless ;  then,  in  a  lower 
tone,  he  continued  :  "  Yet  how  do  the  heathen  rage  and  the  peo- 
ple imagine  a  vain  thing !  They  trample  on  God !  They  say 
this  exists,  I  see  it !  That  exists,  I  hear  it !  The  other  exists,  I 
touch  it!  And  that  is  all — that  is  all.  But  does  it  come  of  what 
we  see  and  hear  and  feel  that  a  man  will  die  for  his  brother? 
Does  it  come  of  that  we  see  and  hear  and  feel  that  a  man  will 
die  for  a  thought  ?  That  he  will  die  for  a  creed  ?  That  he  will 
die  for  honor  ?  That,  withal,  he  will  die  for  anything — for  any- 
thing, while  he  may  live  ?  I  trow  not.  It  comes  of  God !  Of 
God  only. 

"And  they  trample  on  Him!  In  the  streets,  in  the  senate,  in 
high  places.  And  He  says, '  Who  is  on  my  side  ?'  My  children, 
my  brethren,  we  have  lived  long  in  a  time  of  ease  and  safety ; 

15 


294  THE    RED    COCKADE 

we  have  been  long  untried  by  aught  but  the  ordinary  troubles 
of  life,  untrained  by  the  imminent  issues  of  life  and  death. 
Now,  in  these  late  years  of  the  world,  it  has  pleased  the  Al- 
mighty to  try  us;  and  who  is  on  His  side?  Who  is  prepared 
to  put  the  unseen  before  the  seen,  honor  before  life,  God  before 
man,  chivalry  before  baseness,  the  Church  before  the  world  ? 
Who  is  on  His  side?  Spurned  in  this  little  corner  of  His  crea- 
tion, bruised  and  bleeding  and  trampled  under  foot,  yet  ruler  of 
earth  and  heaven,  life  and  death,  judgment  and  eternity,  ruler  of 
all  the  countless  worlds  of  space,  He  comes  !  He  comes  !  He 
conies, God  Almighty, which  was  and  is  and  is  to  be  !  And  who 
is  on  His  side?" 

As  the  last  word  fell  from  his  lips,  and  the  light  above  his 
head  went  suddenly  out,  and  darkness  fell  on  the  breathless 
hush,  the  listening  hundreds,  an  indescribable  wave  of  emotion 
passed  through  the  crowd.  Men  stirred  their  feet  with  a 
strange,  stern  sound  that,  spreading,  passed  in  muttered  thun- 
der to  the  vaults,  while  women  sobbed,  and  here  and  there 
shrieked  and  prayed  aloud.  From  the  altar  a  priest,  in  a  voice 
that  shook  with  feeling,  blessed  the  congregation  ;  then,  even  as 
I  awoke  from  a  trance  of  attention,  madame  touched  my  arm 
and  signed  to  me  to  follow  her,  and,  gliding  quickly  from  her 
place,  led  the  way  down  the  aisle.  Before  the  preacher's  last 
words  had  ceased  to  ring  in  my  ears,  or  my  heart  had  forgot- 
ten to  be  moved,  we  were  walking  under  the  stars,  with  the 
night  air  cooling  our  faces  ;  a  moment  and  we  were  in  the 
house,  and  stood  again  in  the  lighted  salon  where  I  had  first 
found  Madame  Catinot. 

I'.,  fore  I  knew  what  she  was  going  to  do  she  turned  to  me 
with  a  swift  movement  and  laid  both  her  bare  hands  on  mv 
arm,  ami  I  saw  that  the  tears  \\civ  running  down  her  ! 
"  Who  is  on  my  side  T'  she  cried,  in  a  voice  that  thrilled  me  to 
the  soul,  so  that  I  started  where  I  stood.  "  Who  is  on  my  side  ? 
Oh,  surely  you!  Surely  you,  monsieur,  whose  fathers'  swords 
were  drawn  for  God  and  the  King !  Who,  born  to  guide,  are 
surely  on  the  side  of  light!  Who,  noble,  will  never  leave  the 
task  of  government  to  the  base  !  Oh — "  and  there,  breaking  off, 
before  I  could  answer,  she  turned  from  me  with  her  hands 


"THK  MAN  WAS  LOUIS  ST.  ALAIS" 


AT    N1MES  297 

clasped  to  her  face.  "  0  God  !"  she  cried,  with  sobs,  "  give  me 
this  man  for  Thy  service." 

I  stood,  inexpressibly  troubled,  moved  by  the  sight  of  this 
woman  in  tears,  shaken  by  the  conflict  in  my  own  soul,  some- 
what unmanned,  perhaps,  by  what  I  had  seen.  For  a  moment  I 
could  not  speak;  when  I  did,  "  Madame,"  I  said,  unsteadily, "  if 
I  had  known  that  it  was  for  this!  You  have  been  kind  to  me, 
and  I — I  can  make  no  return." 

"  Don't  say  it !"  she  cried,  turning  to  me  and  pleading  with 
me.  "  Don't  say  it !"  And  she  laid  her  clasped  hands  on  my 
arm  and  looked  at  me,  and  then  in  a  moment  smiled  through 
her  tears.  "Forgive  me,"  she  said,  humbly — "forgive  me.  I 
went  about  it  wrongly.  I  feel — too  much.  I  asked  too  quickly. 
But  you  will  ?  You  will,  monsieur  ?  You  will  be  worthy  of  your- 
self ?"" 

I  groaned.     "  I  hold  their  commission,"  I  said. 

"Return  it!" 

"  But  that  will  not  acquit  me  !" 

"  Who  is  on  my  side  ?"  she  said,  softly.  "  Who  is  on  my 
side  ?" 

I  drew  a  deep  breath.  In  the  silence  of  the  room  the  wood- 
ashes  on  the  hearth  settled  down,  and  a  clock  ticked.  "  For 
God  !  For  God  and  the  King  !"  she  said,  looking  up  at  me  with 
shining  eyes,  with  clasped  hands. 

I  could  have  sworn  in  my  pain.  "  To  what  purpose  ?"  I  cried, 
almost  rudely.  "  If  I  were  to  say  yes,  to  what  purpose,  ma- 
dame  ?  What  could  I  do  that  would  help  you  ?  What  could  I 
do  that  would  avail  ?" 

"Everything!  Everything!  You  are  one  man  more!"  she 
cried.  "  One  man  more  for  the  right.  Listen,  monsieur.  You 
do  not  know  what  is  afoot,  or  how  we  are  pressed,  or — " 

She  stopped  suddenly,  abruptly,  and  looked  at  me,  listening — 
listening,  with  a  new  expression  on  her  face.  The  door  was  not 
closed,  and  the  voice  of  a  man  speaking  in  the  hall  below  came 
up  the  staircase ;  another  instant,  and  a  quick  foot  crossed  the 
hall  and  sounded  on  the  stairs.  The  man  was  coming  up. 

Madame,  face  to  face  with  me,  dumb  and  listening  with  dis- 
tended eyes,  stood  a  moment,  as  if  taken  by  surprise.  At  the 


THE    RED    COCKADE 

last  moment,  warning  me  by  a  gesture  to  be  silent,  she  swept  to 
the  door  and  went  out,  not  quite  closing  it  behind  her. 

1  judged  that  the  man  had  almost  reached  it,  for  I  heard  him 
exclaim  in  surprise  at  her  sudden  appearance  ;  then  he  said 
something  in  a  tone  which  did  not  reach  me.  I  lost  her  answer 
too,  but  his  next  words  were  audible  enough. 

••  You  will  not  open  the  door  ?"  he  cried. 

"  Not  of  that  room,"  she  replied,  bravely.  "  You  can  see  me 
in  the  other,  my  friend." 

Then  silence.  I  could  almost  hear  them  breathing.  I  could 
picture  them  looking  at  one  another.  I  grew  hot. 

"Oh,  this  is  intolerable!"  he  cried,  at  last.  "This  is  not  to 
be  borne  !  Are  you  to  receive  every  stranger  that  comes  to 
town?  Are  you  to  be  closeted  with  them,  and  sup  with  them, 
and  sit  with  them,  while  I  eat  my  heart  out  outside?  Am  I — 
I  will  go  in  !" 

"You .shall  not!"  she  cried;  but  I  thought  that  the  indigna- 
tion in  her  voice  rang  false,  that  laughter  underlay  it.  "  It  is 
enough  that  you  insult  me,"  she  continued,  proudly.  "  But  if 
you  dare  to  touch  me,  or  if  you  insult  him — " 

"  Him  !"  he  cried,  fiercely.  "  Him,  indeed  !  Madame,  I  tell 
you  at  once  I  have  borne  enough.  I  have  suffered  this  more 
than  once,  but — " 

But  I  had  no  longer  any  doubt,  and  before  he  could  add  the 
next  word  I  was  at  the  door,  I  had  snatched  it  open,  and  stood  be- 
fore him.  Madame  fell  back  with  a  cry  between  tears  and  laugh- 
ter, and  we  stood  looking  at  one  another. 

The  man  was  Louis  St.  Alais. 


CHAPTER   XX 
THE    SEARCH 

I  HAD  not  seen  Louis  since  the  day  of  the  duel  at  Cahors, 
when,  parting  from  him  at  the  door  in  the  passage  by  the 
cathedral,  I  had  refused  to  take  his  hand.  .  Then  I  had  been 
sorely  angry  with  him.  But  time  and  old  memories  and  crowd- 
ing events  had  long  softened  the  feeling;  and  in  the  joy  of 
meeting  him  again,  of  finding  him  in  this  unexpected  stranger, 
nothing  was  further  from  my  thoughts  than  to  rake  up  old 
grudges.  I  held  out  my  hand,  therefore,  with  a  laughing  word. 
"  Voila  1'Inconnu,  monsieur  !"  I  said,  with  a  bow.  "  I  am  here 
to  find  you,  and  I  find  you !" 

He  stared  at  me  a  moment  in  the  utmost  astonishment,  and 
then  impulsively  grasping  my  hand  he  held  it,  and  stood  look- 
ing at  me  with  the  old  affection  in  his  eyes.  "Adrien!  Adrien!" 
he  said,  much  moved.  "  Is  it  really  you  ?" 

"  Even  so,  monsieur." 

"  And  here  ?" 

"  Here,"  I  said. 

Then  to  my  astonishment  he  slowly  dropped  my  hand,  and 
his  manner  and  his  face  changed — as  a  house  changes  when 
the  shutters  are  closed.  "  I  am  sorry  for  it,'*  he  said,  slowly, 
and  after  a  long  pause.  And  then,  with  an  unmistakable  flash 
of  anger,  "  My  God,  monsieur !  Why  have  you  come  3"  he 
cried. 

"  Why  have  I  come?" 

"  Aye,  why  ?"  he  repeated,  bitterly.  "  Why  ?  Why  have  you 
come — to  trouble  us  ?  You  do  not  know  what  evil  you  are 
doing !  You  do  not  know,  man  !" 

"I  know  at  least  what  good  I  am  seeking,"  I   answered, 


300  THE    RED    COCKADE 

purely  astounded  by  this  sudden  and  inexplicable  change.  "  I 
have  made  no  secret  of  that,  and  I  make  no  secret  of  it  now. 
No  man  was  ever  worse  treated  than  I  have  been  by  your 
family.  Your  attitude  now  impels  me  to  say  that.  But  when 
I  see  Madame  la  Marquise  to-morrow  I  shall  tell  her  that  it 
will  take  more  than  this  to  change  me.  I  shall  tell  her — " 

"  You  will  not  see  her  !"  he  answered. 

"  But  I  shall !" 

"  You  will  not !"  he  retorted. 

Before  I  could  answer,  Madame  Catinot  1.  terposed.  "Oh, 
no  more  !"  she  cried,  in  a  voice  which  sufficiently  evinced  her 
distress.  "  I  thought  that  you  and  he  were  friends,  M.  Louis? 
And  now — now  that  fortune  has  brought  you  together  again — 

"  Would  to  Heaven  it  had  not!"  he  cried,  dropping  his  hand 
like  a  man  in  despair.  And  he  took  a  turn  this  way  and  that 
on  the  floor. 

She  looked  at  him.  "I  do  not  think  that  you  have  ever 
spoken  to  me  in  that  tone  before,  monsieur,"  she  said,  in  a 
tone  of  keen  reproach.  "  If  it  is  due — if,  I  mean,"  she  con- 
tinued, quietly,  but  with  a  sparkling  eye,  "it  is  because  you 
found  M.  le  Vicomte  with  me,  you  infer  something  unworthy  of 
us — you  insult  me  as  well  as  your  friend  !" 

"  Heaven  forbid  !"  he  exclaimed. 

But  she  was  roused.  "  That  is  not  enough,"  she  answered, 
firmly  and  proudly.  "  For  one  week  more  this  is  my  house, 
M.  Louis.  After  that  it  will  be  yours.  Perhaps  then — perhaps 
then,"  she  continued,  with  a  pitiful  break  in  her  voice,  "I  shall 
think  of  to-night,  and  wonder  I  took  no  warning!  Perhaps 
then,  monsieur,  a  \\ord  of  kindness  from  you  may  be  as  rare 
as  a  rough  WON!  now  !" 

lie  was  not  proof  against  that  and  the  sadness  in  her  voice. 
He  threw  himself  on  his  knees  before  her  and  sei/.ed  her  hands. 
"Madame!  ('atherinc!  forgive  me!"  he  eried,  passionately, 
kis>inir  |)(.|-  hands  a^ain  and  airain,  and  taking  no  heed  of  me 
at  all.  "Forgive  me!"  he  continued.  u  I  am  miserable!  You 
are  my  only  comfort,  my  only  eompensation.  I  do  not  know, 
since  I  saw  him,  \\hat  I  am  saying.  Forgive  me  !" 

"I  do!"  she  said,  hastily.     "Rise,  monsieur!"  and  she  fur- 


301 

lively  wiped  away  a  tear,  then  looked  at  me,  blushing  but 
happy.  "  I  do,"  she  continued.  "  But,  mon  cher,  I  do  not 
understand  you.  The  other  day  you  spoke  so  kindly  of  M.  de 
Saux,  and  of  —  pardon  me — your  sister,  and  of  other  things. 
To-day  M.  de  Saux  is  here,  and  you  are  unhappy." 

"  I  am !"  he  said,  casting  a  haggard,  miserable  look  at  me. 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders  and  spoke  up.  "  So  be  it,"  I  said, 
proudly.  "  But  because  I  have  lost  a  friend,  monsieur,  it  does 
not  follow  that  I  need  lose  a  mistress.  I  have  come  to  Niraes 
to  win  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Alais's  hand.  I  shall  not  leave 
until  I  have  won  it." 

"That  is  madness  !"  he  said,  with  a  groan. 

"  AVhy  ?" 

"Because  you  talk  of  the  impossible,"  he  answered.  "Be- 
cause Madame  de  St.  Alais  is  not  at  Niraes — for  you." 

"  She  is  at  Nimes  !" 

"  You  will  have  to  find  her." 

"  That  is  childishness  !"  I  said.  "  Do  you  mean  to  say  that 
at  the  first  hotel  I  enter  I  shall  not  be  told  where  madame  has 
her  lodging?" 

"Neither  at  the  first  nor  at  the  last." 

"  She  is  in  retreat  ?" 

"  I  shall  not  tell  you." 

With  that  we  stood  facing  one  another,  Madame  Catinot 
watching  us  a  little  aside.  Clearly  the  events  of  the  last  few 
months,  which  had  so  changed,  so  hardened  Madame  St.  Alais, 
had  not  been  lost  on  Louis.  I  could  fancy,  as  I  confronted 
him,  that  it  was  M.  le  Marquis,  the  elder,  and  not  the  younger 
brother,  who  withstood  me;  only  —  only  from  under  Louis's 
mask  of  defiance  there  peeped,  I  still  fancied,  the  old  Louis's 
face,  doubting  and  miserable. 

I  tried  that  chord.  "  Come,"  I  said,  making  an  effort  to 
swallow  my  wrath  and  speak  reasonably,  "I  think  that  you  are 
not  in  earnest,  M.  le  Comte,  in  what  you  say,  and  that  we  are 
both  heated.  Time  was  when  we  agreed  well  enough,  and  you 
were  not  unwilling  to  have  me  for  your  brother-in-law.  Are 
we,  because  of  these  miserable  differences — " 

"Differences!"    he    cried,    interrupting    me   harshly.     "My 


302  THE    RED    COCKADE 

mother's  house  in  Cahors  is  an  empty  shell.  My  brother's 
house  at  St.  Alais  is  a  heap  of  ashes.  And  you  talk  of  differ- 
ences !" 

"  Well,  call  them  what  you  like  !'' 

"Besides,"  Madame  Catinot  interposed, quickly — "  pardon  me, 
monsieur — besides,  M.  St.  Alais,  you  know  our  need  of  com* 
M.  le  Vicomte  is  a  gentleman,  and  a  man  of  sense  and  religion. 
It  needs  but  a  little  —  a  very  little,"  she  continued,  smiling 
faintly  at  me,  "to  persuade  him.  And  if  your  sister's  hand 
would  do  that  little,  and  madame  were  agreeable  ?" 

"  He  could  not  have  it !"  he  answered,  sullenly — looking  away 
from  me. 

"  But  a  week  ago,"  Madame  Catinot  answered,  in  a  startled 
tone,  "  you  told  me — " 

"  A  week  ago  is  not  now,"  he  said.  "  For  the  rest,  I  have 
only  this  to  say  :  I  am  sorry  to  see  you  here,  M.  le  Vicomte, 
and  I  beg  you  to  return.  You  can  do  no  good,  and  you  may 
do  and  suffer  harm.  By  no  possibility  can  you  gain  what  you 
seek." 

"  That  remains  to  be  seen,"  I  answered,  stubbornly,  roused 
in  my  turn.  "To  begin  with,  since  you  say  that  I  cannot  find 
mademoiselle,  I  shall  adopt  a  very  simple  plan.  I  shall  wait 
here  until  you  leave,  monsieur,  and  then  accompany  you  home." 

"You  will  not!"  he  said. 

"  You  may  depend  upon  it  I  shall !"  I  answered,  defiantly. 

But  madame  interposed.  "No,  M.  de  Saux,"  she  said,  with 
dignity.  "  You  will  not  do  that;  I  am  sure  that  you  will  not; 
it  would  be  an  abuse  of  my  hospitality." 

"  If  you  forbid  it?" 

"  I  do,"  she  answered. 

"Then,  madame,  I  cannot,"  I  replied.    "But — " 

"But  nothing!  Let  there  be  a  truce  now,  if  you  please," 
she  said,  firmly.  "  If  it  is  to  be  war  between  you,  it  shall  not 
begin  here.  I  think,  too — I  think  that  I  had  better  ask  you  to 
retire,"  she  continued,  with  an  appealing  glance  at  me. 

I  looked  at  Louis.  But  he  had  turned  away,  and  affected 
to  ignore  me.  And  on  that  I  succumbed.  It  was  impos.sihlc  to 
answer  madame  when  she  spoke  to  me  in  that  way,  and  equally 


THE    SEARCH  303 

impossible  to  remain  in  the  house  against  her  will.  I  bowed, 
therefore,  in  silence;  and  with  the  best  grace  I  could,  though 
I  was  sore  and  angry,  I  took  my  cloak  and  hat,  which  I  had 
laid  on  a  chair. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  madame  said,  kindly.  And  she  held  out  her 
hand. 

I  raised  it  to  my  lips.  "To-morrow — at  twelve — here!" 
she  breathed. 

I  started.  I  rather  guessed  than  heard  the  words,  so  softly 
were  they  spoken ;  but  her  eyes  made  up  for  the  lack  of  sound, 
and  I  understood.  The  next  moment  she  turned  from  me, 
and  with  a  last  reluctant  glance  at  Louis,  who  still  had  his  back 
to  me,  I  went  out. 

The  man  who  had  admitted  me  was  in  the  hall.  "  You  will 
find  your  horse  at  the  Louvre,  monsieur,"  he  said,  as  he  opened 
the  door. 

I  rewarded  him,  and,  going  out,  without  a  thought  whither 
I  was  going,  Avalked  along  the  street,  plunged  in  reflection, 
until,  marching  on  blindly,  I  came  against  a  man.  That  awoke 
me,  and  I  looked  round.  I  had  been  in  the  house  little  more 
than  three  hours,  and  in  Nimes  scarcely  longer,  yet  so  much 
had  happened  in  the  time  that  it  seemed  strange  to  me  to 
find  the  streets  unfamiliar,  to  find  myself  alone  in  them,  at  a 
loss  which  way  to  turn.  Though  it  was  hard  on  ten  o'clock, 
and  only  a  swaying  lantern  here  and  there  made  a  ring  of 
smoky  light  at  the  meeting  of  four  ways,  there  were  numbers 
of  people  still  abroad  ;  a  few  standing,  but  the  majority  going 
one  way,  the  men  with  cloaks  about  their  necks,  the  women 
with  muffled  heads. 

Feeling  the  necessity,  since  I  must  get  myself  a  lodging,  of 
putting  away  for  the  moment  my  one  absorbing  thought — the 
question  of  Louis's  behavior — I  stopped  a  man  who  was  not 
going  with  the  stream,  and  asked  him  the  way  to  the  Hotel 
de  Louvre.  I  learned  not  only  that,  but  the  cause  of  the  con- 
course. 

"There  has  been  a  procession,"  he  answered,  gruffly.  "I 
should  have  thought  that  you  would  know  that!"  he  added, 
with  a  glance  at  my  hat.  And  he  turned  on  his  heel. 


304  THE    KED    COCKADE 

I  remembered  the  red  cockade  I  wore,  and,  before  I  went 
farther,  paused  to  take  it  out.  As  I  moved  on  again  a  man 
came  quickly  up  behind  me,  and,  as  he  passed,  thrust  a  paper 
into  my  hand.  Before  I  could  speak  lie  was  gone,  but  the  inci- 
dent and  the  bustle  of  the  streets,  strange  at  this  late  hour, 
helped  to  divert  my  thoughts;  and  I  was  not  surprised  when, 
on  reaching  the  inn,  I  was  told  that  every  room  was  full. 

"  Mv  horse  is  here,"  1  said,  thinking  that  the  landlord,  seeing 
me  walk  in  on  foot,  might  distrust  the  weight  of  my  purse. 

"  Yes,  monsieur ;  and  if  you  like  you  can  lie  in  the  eating- 
room,"  he  answered,  very  civilly.  "  You  are  welcome,  and  you 
will  do  no  better  elsewhere.  It  is  as  if  the  fair  were  being 
held  at  Beaucaire.  The  city  is  full  of  strangers.  Almost  as 
full  as  it  is  of  those  things,"  he  continued,  querulously,  and 
he  pointed  to  the  paper  in  my  hand. 

1  looked  at  it,  and  saw  that  it  was  a  manifesto  headed  :  "  Sac- 
rilege! Mary  weeps  /"  "  It  was  thrust  into  my  hand  a  minute 
ago,"  I  said. 

"To  be  sure,"  he  answered.  "One  morning  we  got  up  and 
found  the  walls  white  with  them.  Another  day  they  were  fly- 
ing loose  about  the  streets." 

"  Do  you  know,"  I  asked,  seeing  that  he  had  been  supping, 
and  was  inclined  to  talk,  "  where  the  Marquis  de  St.  Alais  is 
living 

"  No,  monsieur,"  he  said.     "  I  do  not  know  the  gentleman.'' 

"  But  he  is  here  with  his  family." 

••  \\"ho  is  not  here?"  he  answered,  shrugging  his  shoulders. 
Then,  in  a  lower  tone,  "  Is  he  Red,  or — or  the  other  thing,  mon- 
sieur?" 

"  Red,"  I  said,  boldly. 

'•  Ah  !  Well,  there  have  been  two  or  three  gentlemen  going 
to  and  fro  between  our  M.  Fromcnt  and  Turin  and  Montpellier. 
It  is  said  that  our  mayor  would  have  arrested  them  long  ago  if 
he  had  done  his  duty.  But  he  is  Red  too,  and  most  of  the 
councillors.  And  I  don't  know,  for  I  take  no  side.  Perhaps 
the  gentleman  you  want  is  one  of  these  ?" 

••  Very  likely,"  1  said.     "So  M.  Froment  is  here?" 

"Monsieur  knows  him?" 


"  '  NO,  MONSIKUR,'  HE   SAID.       '  I   DO    NOT    KNOW    THE    OKNTLEMAN 


THE    SEARCH  307 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  dryly,  "  a  little." 

"  Well,  be  is  here,  or  he  is  not,"  the  landlord  answered,  shak- 
ing his  head.  "  It  is  impossible  to  say." 

"  Why  ?"  I  asked.  "  Does  he  not  live  here  ?" 
"  Yes,  he  lives  here ;  at  the  Porte  d'Auguste,  on  the  old  wall 
near  the  Capuchins.  But — "  he  looked  round  and  then  contin- 
ued, mysteriously,  "  he  goes  out  where  he  has  never  gone  in, 
monsieur !  And  he  has  a  house  in  the  Amphitheatre,  and  it  is 
the  same  there.  And  some  say  that  the  Capuchins  is  only  an- 
other house  of  his.  And  if  you  go  to  the  Cabaret  de  la  Vierge 
and  give  his  name — you  pay  nothing." 

He  said  this  with  many  nods,  and  then  seemed  on  a  sudden 
to  think  that  he  had  said  too  much,  and  hurried  away.  Asking 
for  them,  I  learned  that  M.  de  Geol  and  Buton,  failing  to  get  a 
room  there,  had  gone  to  the  Ecu  de  France ;  but  I  was  not  very 
sorry  to  be  rid  of  them  for  the  time,  and,  accepting  the  host's 
offer,  I  went  to  the  eating-room,  and  there  made  myself  as  com- 
fortable as  two  hard  chairs  and  the  excitement  of  my  thoughts 
permitted. 

The  one  thing,  the  one  subject,  that  absorbed  me  was  Louis's 
behavior,  and  the  strange  and  abrupt  change  I  had  marked  in  it. 
He  had  been  glad  to  see  me ;  his  hand  had  leaped  to  meet  mine'; 
I  had  read  the  old  affection  in  his  eyes ;  and  then — then  on  a 
sudden,  in  a  moment,  he  had  frozen  into  surly,  churlish  antago- 
nism, an  antagonism  that  had  taken  Madame  Catinot  by  sur- 
prise, and  was  not  without  a  touch  of  remorse,  almost  of  horror. 
It  could  not  be  that  she  was  dead  ?  It  could  not  be  that  Denise 
— no,  my  mind  failed  to  entertain  it.  But  I  rose,  trembling  at 
the  thought,  and  paced  the  room  until  daylight,  listening  to  the 
watchman's  cry,  and  the  mournful  hours,  and  the  occasional  rush 
of  hurrying  feet  that  spoke  of  the  perturbed  city.  What  to  me 
„  were  Froment,  or  the  Red  or  the  White  or  the  Tricolor,  veto  or 
no  veto,  endowment  or  disendowment,  in  comparison  to  that? 

The  house  stirred  at  last,  but  I  had  still  to  wait  till  noon  be- 
fore I  could  see  Madame  Catinot.  I  spent  the  interval  in  an 
aimless  walk  through  the  town.  At  another  time  the  things  I 
saw  must  have  filled  me  with  wonder  ;  at  another  time  the  hoary, 
gloomy  ring  of  the  Arencs,  rising  in  tiers  of  frowning  arches 


308  THE    RED    COCKADE 

high  above  the  squalid  roofs  that  leaned  against  it — and  choked 
within  by  a  Ghetto  of  the  like,  huddled  where  prefects  once  sat, 
and  the  emperor's  colors  flew  victorious  round  the  circle — must 
have  won  my  admiration  by  its  vastness ;  the  Maison  Carree  by 
its  fair  proportions;  the  streets  by  the  teeming  crowds  that 
filled  them  and  stood  about  the  cabarets  and  read  the  jilaranls 
on  the  walls.  But  I  had  only  thought  for  Louis  and  my  love 
and  the  lagging  minutes.  At  the  first  stroke  of  twelve  I  knocked 
at  Madame  Catinot's  door ;  the  last  saw  me  in  her  presence. 

It  needed  but  a  look  at  her  face  and  my  heart  sank;  the 
thanks  I  was  preparing  to  utter  died  on  my  lips  as  I  gazed  at 
her.  She  on  her  part  was  agitated.  For  a  moment  we  were 
both  silent. 

At  last,  "  I  see  that  you  have  had  news  for  me,  madame,"  I 
said,  striving  to  smile  and  bear  myself  bravely. 

"  The  worst,  I  fear,"  she  said,  pitifully,  smoothing  her  skirt. 
"  For  I  have  none,  monsieur." 

"  Yet  I  have  heard  it  said  that  no  news  is  good  news !"  I 
said,  wondering. 

Her  lip  trembled,  but  she  did  not  look  at  me. 

"  Come,  madame,"  I  persisted,  though  1  was  sick  at  heart. 
"Surely  you  are  going  to  tell  me  more  than  that?  At  least 
you  can  tell  me  where  I  can  see  Madame  St.  Alais." 

"No,  monsieur,  I  cannot  tell  you,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Nor  why  M.  Louis  has  so  suddenly  become  hostile  to  me?" 

"  No,  monsieur,  nor  that.     And  I  beg — as  you  are  a  gentle- 
man," she  continued,  hurriedly,  "  that  you  will  spare  me  <)• 
tions !     I  thought  that  I  could  help  you,  and  I  asked  you  to 
me  to-day.     I  find  that  I  can  only  give  you  pain." 

••  And  that  is  all,  madame?" 

"  That  is  all,"  she  said,  with  a  gesture  that  told  more  than  her 
words. 

I  looked  round  the  silent  room.  I  walked  half  way  t<>  tin- 
door;  and  then  I  turned  back.  I  could  not  go.  "N»!M  I 
cried,  vehemently,  "I  will  not  go  so!  What  is  it  yu  1 
learned  that  has  closed  your  lij>s,  madame?  What  are  tln-y 
plotting  airaiust  h>-r — that  you  fear  to  tell  me  ?  Speak,  madaiiR-  ! 
You  did  not  bring  me  here  to  hear  this !  That  I  know." 


THE    SEARCH  309 

But  she  only  looked  at  me,  her  face  full  of  reproach.  "  Mon- 
sieur," she  said,  "I  meant  kindly.  Is  this  my  reward  ?" 

And  that  was  too  much  for  me.  I  turned  without  a  word, 
and  went  out  of  the  room  and  the  house. 

Outside  I  felt  like  a  child  in  darkness,  on  whom  the  one  door 
leading  to  life  and  liberty  had  closed  as  his  hand  touched  it. 
I  felt  a  dead,  numbing  disappointment  that  at  any  moment 
might  develop  into  sharp  pain.  This  change  in  Madame  Catiuot, 
resembling  so  exactly  the  change  in  Louis  St.  Alais — what  could 
be  the  cause  of  it  ?  What  had  been  revealed  to  her  ?  What 
was  the  mystery,  the  plot,  the  danger,  that  made  them  all  turn 
from  me  as  if  I  had  the  plague  ? 

For  a  while  I  was  in  the  depths  of  despair.  Then  the  warm 
sunshine  that  filled  the  streets  and  spoke  of  coming  summer 
kindled  lighter  thoughts.  After  all,  it  could  not  be  hard  to  find 
a  person  in  Nimes.  I  had  soon  found  M.  Louis.  And  this 
was  the  eighteenth  century  and  not  the  sixteenth.  Women 
were  no  longer  exposed  to  the  pressure  that  had  once  been 
brought  to  bear  on  them,  nor  men  to  the  violence  natural  in 
old  feuds. 

And  then — as  I  thought  of  that,  and  strove  to  comfort  myself 
with  it — I  heard  a  noise  burst  into  the  street  behind  me,  a  roar 
of  voices  and  a  sudden  trampling  of  hundreds  of  feet,  and,  turn- 
ing, I  saw  a  dense  press  of  men  coming  towards  me,  waving 
aloft  blue  banners  and  crucifixes  and  flags  with  the  Five  Wounds. 
Some  were  singing  and  some  shouting;  all  were  brandishing 
clubs  and  weapons.  They  came  along  at  a  good  pace,  filling  the 
street  from  wall  to  wall ;  and  to  avoid  them  I  stepped  into  an 
archway  that  opportunely  presented  itself. 

They  came  up  in  a  moment  and  swept  past  me  with  deafening 
shouts.  It  was  difficult  to  see  more  than  a  forest  of  waving 
arms  and  staves  over  swart,  excited  faces  ;  but  through  a  break 
in  the  ranks  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  three  men  walking  in  the 
heart  of  the  crowd,  quiet  themselves,  yet  the  cause  and  centre 
of  all ;  and  the  middle  man  of  the  three  was  Froment.  One  of 
the  others  wore  a  cassock,  and  the  third  had  a  reckless  air,  and 
a  hat  cocked  in  the  military  fashion.  So  much  I  saw  ;  then 
only  rank  upon  rank  of  hurrying,  shouting  men.  After  these 


310  THE    RED    COCKADE 

again  followed  three  or  four  hundred  of  the  scum  of  the  city, 
irs  and  broken  rascals  and  homeless  men. 

As  I  turned  from  staring  after  them  I  found  a  man  at  my 
elbow — by  a  strange  coincidence  the  very  same  man  \vli<>,  the 
night  before,  had  directed  me  to  the  Hotel  tie  Louvre.  I  asked 
him  if  that  was  not  M.  Froment. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  with  a  sneer.     "  And  his  brother." 

"  Oh,  his  brother  !     "What  is  his  name,  monsieur?" 

"  Bully  Froment,  some  call  him." 

"  And  what  are  they  going  to  do  ?" 

"  Groan  outside  a  Protestant  church  to-day,"  he  answered, 
pithily.  "  To-morrow  break  the  windows.  The  next  day,  or  as 
soon  as  they  can  get  their  courage  to  the  sticking-point,  fire  on 
the  worshippers,  and  call  in  the  garrison  from  Montpellier.  Af- 
ter that  the  refugees  from  Turin  will  come,  we  shall  be  in  revolt, 
and  there  will  be  dragoonings.  And  then — if  the  Cevennols 
don't  step  in — monsieur  will  see  strange  things." 

"  But  the  mayor  ?"  I  said.  "  And  the  National  Guards  ? 
Will  they  suffer  it  ?" 

"The  first  is  red,"  the  man  answered,  curtly.  "And  two- 
thirds  of  the  last.  Monsieur  will  see." 

And  with  a  cool  nod  he  went  on  his  way,  while  I  stood  a 
moment  looking  idly  after  the  procession.  On  a  sudden,  as  I 
stood,  it  occurred  to  me  that  where  Froment  was  the  St.  Alais 
might  be  ;  and  snatching  at  the  idea,  wondering  hugely  that  I 
had  not  had  it  before,  I  started  recklessly  in  pursuit  of  the  mob. 
The  last  broken  wave  of  the  crowd  was  still  visible,  eddying 
round  a  distant  corner ;  even  after  that  disappeared  it  was  easy 
to  trace  the  course  it  had  taken  by  closed  shutters  and  scared 
faces  peeping  from  windows.  I  heard  the  mob  stop  once  and 
groan  and  howl  ;  but  before  I  came  up  with  it,  it  was  on  again, 
and  when  I  at  last  overtook  it,  whore  one  of  the  streets,  before 
narrowing  to  an  old  gateway,  opened  out  into  a  little  square, 
with  high,  dingy  buildings  on  this  side  and  that,  and  a  mesh- 
work  of  alleys  running  into  it,  the  nucleus  of  the  crowd  had 
vanished,  and  the  fringe  was  melting  this  way  and  that. 

My  aim  was  Froment,  and  I  had  missed  him.  But  I  was  at 
a  loss  only  for  a  moment,  for  as  I  stood  and  scanned  the  peo- 


THEY  CAME  ALONG  AT  A  GOOD  PACE,  FILLING  THE  STREET  FROM  WALL  TO 

WALL" 


THE    SEARCH  313 

pie  trooping  back  into  the  town  my  eye  alighted  on  a  lean  fig- 
ure with  stooping  bead  and  a  scanty  cassock  that,  wishing  to 
cross  the  street,  paused  a  moment  striving  to  pass  athwart  the 
crowd.  It  needed  a  glance  only ;  then,  with  a  cry  of  joy,  I  was 
through  the  press  and  at  the  man's  side. 

It  was  Father  Benoit !  For  a  moment  we  could  not  speak. 
Then,  as  we  looked  at  one  another,  the  first  hasty,  joyful  words 
spoken,  I  saw  the  very  expression  of  dismay  and  discomfiture 
which  I  had  read  on  Louis  St.  Alais's  face  dawn  on  his  !  He 
muttered:  "0  mon  Dieu  !  mon  Dieuf"  under  his  breath,  and 
wrung  his  hands  stealthily. 

But  I  was  sick  of  this  mystery,  and  I  said  so  in  hot  words. 
"  You,  at  any  rate,  shall  tell  me,  father  !"  I  cried. 

Two  or  three  of  the  passers-by  heard  me  and  looked  at  us 
curiously.  He  drew  me,  to  escape  these,  into  a  doorway  ;  still 
a  man  stood  peering  in  at  us.  "Come  up-stairs,"  the  father 
muttered  ;  "  we  shall  be  quiet  there."  And  he  led  the  way  up  a 
stone  staircase,  ancient  and  sordid,  serving  many  and  cleaned 
by  none. 

"  Do  you  live  here  ?"  I  said. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  and  then  stopped  short,  and  turned  to 
me  with  an  air  of  confusion.  "  But  it  is  a  poor  place,  M.  le 
Vicomte,"  he  continued,  and  he  even  made  as  if  he  would  de- 
scend again,  "  and  perhaps  we  should  be  wise  to  go — " 

"  No,  no !"  I  said,  burning  with  impatience.  "  To  your  room, 
man  !  To  your  room,  if  you  live  here  !  I  cannot  wait.  I  have 
found  you,  and  I  will  not  let  another  minute  pass  before  I  have 
learned  the  truth." 

He  still  hesitated,  and  even  began  to  mutter  another  objection. 
But  I  had  only  mind  for  one  thing;  and,  giving  way  to  me,  he 
preceded  me  slowly  to  the  top  of  the  house,  where  under  the 
tiles  he  had  a  little  room,  with  a  mattress  and  a  chair,  two  or 
three  books,  and  a  crucifix.  A  small,  square  dormer-window  ad- 
mitted the  light — and  something  else ;  for  as  we  entered  a 
pigeon  rose  from  the  floor  and  flew  out  by  it. 

He  uttered  an  exclamation  of  annoyance,  and  explained  that 
he  fed  them  sometimes.  "  They  are  company,"  he  said,  sadly. 
"  And  I  have  found  little  here." 


314  THE    RED    COCKVDE 

"  Yet  you  came  of  your  own  accord,"  I  retorted,  brutally.  I 
T  \v;is  choking  with  anxiety,  and  it  took  that  form. 

"  To  lose  one  more  illusion,"  lie  answered.  "  For  years — you 
know  it,  M.  le  Vicomte — I  looked  forward  to  reform,  to  liberty, 
to  freedom.  And  I  taught  others  to  look  forward  also.  Well, 
we  gained  these — you  know  it;  and  the  first  use  the  people 
made  of  their  liberty  was  to  attack  religion.  Then  I  came  here 
because  I  was  told  that  here  the  defenders  of  the  Church  would 
make  a  stand ;  that  here  the  Church  was  strong,  religion  re- 
spected, faith  still  vigorous.  I  came  to  gain  a  little  hope  from 
others'  hope.  And  I  find  pretended  miracles,  I  find  imposture, 
I  find,  lies  and  trickery  and  chicanery  used  on  one  side  and  the 
other.  And  violence  everywhere." 

"Then,  in  Heaven's  name,  man,  why  did  you  not  go  home 
again  ?"  I  cried. 

"I  was  going  a  week  ago,"  he  answered.  "And  then  I  did 
not  go.  And — " 

"Never  mind  that  now!"  I  cried,  harshly.  "It  is  not  that 
I  want.  I  have  seen  Louis  St.  Alais,  and  I  know  that  there  is 
something  amiss.  lie  will  not  face  me.  II'-  will  not  tell  me 
where  inadame  is.  He  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  me.  He 
looks  at  me  as  if  I  were  a  death's  head  !  Now,  what  is  it  ?  Y<>u 
know,  and  I  must  know.  Tell  me." 

"J/btt  Dieu  /"  he  answered.  And  lie  looked  at  me  with  tears 
in  his  ej6&  Then,  "  This  is  what  I  feared,"  he  said. 

"  Feared  ?     Feared  what  ?"  I  cried. 

"  That  your  heart  was  in  it,  M.  le  Vicomte." 

"In  what?     In  what?     Speak  plainly,  man." 

"  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Alais's — engagement,"  he  said. 

I  stood  a  moment  staring  at  him.  "  Her  engagement  ?"  I 
whispered,  "  To  whom  ?" 

"  To  M.  Froment,"  he  answered. 


CHAPTER  XXI 
RIVALS 

"  IT  is  impossible  !"  I  said,  slowly.  "  Froraent  ?  It  is  impos- 
sible !" 

But  even  while  I  said  it  I  knew  that  I  lied,  and  I  turned  to  the 
window  that  Father  Benoit  might  not  see  my  face.  Froment! 
The  name  alone,  now  that  the  hint  was  supplied,  let  in  the 
light.  Fellow-traveller,  fellow-conspirator,  in  turn  protected 
and  protector,  his  face  as  I  had  seen  it  at  the  carriage  door  in 
the  pass  by  Villeraugues  rose  up  before  me,  and  1  marvelled 
that  I  had  not  guessed  the  secret  earlier.  A  bourgeois  and 
ambitious,  thrown  into  mademoiselle's  company,  what  could  be 
more  certain  than  that,  sooner  or  later,  he  would  lift  his  eyes  to 
her?  What  more  likely  than  that  Madame  St.  Alais,  impover- 
ished and  embittered,  afloat  on  the  whirlpool  of  agitation,  would 
be  willing  to  reward  his  daring  even  with  her  daughter's  hand  ? 
Rich  already,  success  would  ennoble  him  ;  for  the  rest  I  knew 
how  the  man,  strong  where  so  many  were  weak,  resolute  where 
a  hundred  faltered,  assured  of  his  purpose  and  steadfast  in  pur- 
suing it  where  others  knew  none,  must  loom  in  a  woman's  eyes. 
And  I  gnashed  my  teeth. 

I  had  my  eyes  fixed,  as  I  thought  these  thoughts,  on  a  little 
dingy,  well-like  court  that  lay  below  her  window,  and  on  the 
farther  side  of  which,  but  far  below  me,  a  monastic-looking 
porch,  surmounted  by  a  carved  figure,  formed  the  centre  of  vis- 
ion. Mechanically,  though  I  could  have  sworn  that  my  whole 
mind  was  otherwise  engaged,  I  watched  two  men  come  into  the 
court  and  go  to  this  porch.  They  did  not  knock  or  call,  but 
one  of  them  struck  his  stick  twice  on  the  pavement ;  in  a  second 
or  two  the  door  opened,  as  of  itself,  and  the  men  disappeared. 
10 


316  THE    KED    COCKADE 

I  saw  and  noted  this  unconsciously  ;  yet,  in  all  probability,  it 
\\.-is  the  closing  of  the  door  that  roused  me  from  my  thoughts. 
"Froment!"  I  said;  "Froment!"  And  then  I  turned  from  the 
window.  "  Where  is  she  ?"  I  said,  hoarsely. 

Father  Benoit  shook  his  head. 

"•You  must  know!"  I  cried;  indeed,  I  saw  that  he  did. 
"  You  must  know  !" 

"  I  do  know,"  he  answered,  slowly,  his  eyes  on  mine.  "  But 
I  cannot  tell  you.  I  could  not,  were  it  to  save  your  life,  M.  le 
Vicomte.  I  had  it  in  confession." 

I  stared  at  him,  baffled,  and  my  heart  sank  at  that  answer  as 
it  would  have  sunk  at  no  other.  I  knew  that  on  this  door,  this 
iron  door  without  a  key,  I  might  beat  my  hands  and  spend  my 
fury  until  the  end  of  time  and  go  no  farther.  At  length,  "  Then 
why — why  have  you  told  me  so  much?"  I  cried,  with  a  harsh 
laugh.  "  Why  tell  me  anything  ?" 

"  Because  I  would  have  you  leave  Nlmes,"  Father  Ben6it  an- 
swered, gently,  laying  his  hand  on  my  arm,  his  eyes  full  of  en- 
treaty. "  Mademoiselle  is  contracted,  and  beyond  your  reach. 
Within  a  few  hours,  certainly  as  soon  as  the  elections  come  on, 
there  will  be  a  rising  here.  I  know  you,"  he  continued,  "and 
your  feelings,  and  I  know  that  your  sympathies  will  be  with  nei- 
ther party.  Why  stay  then,  M.  le  Vicomte  ?" 

"  \\'hy  ?"  I  said,  so  quickly  that  his  hand  fell  from  my  arm 
as  if  I  had  struck  him.  "Because  until  mademoiselle  is  mar- 
ried I  foll6w  her,  if  it  be  to  Turin  !  Because  M.  Froment  is  un- 
wise to  mingle  love  and  war,  and  my  sympathies  are  now  with 
one  side,  and  it  is  not  his  !  It  is  not  his  !  Why,  you  ask  \  Be- 
cause— you  cannot  tell  me,  but  there  arc  those  who  can,  and  I 
go  to  them  !" 

And  without  waiting  to  hear  answer  or  remonstrance — though 
he  cried  to  me  and  tried  to  detain  me — I  caught  up  my  hat  and 
flew  down  the  stairs,  ami,  once  out  of  the  house  and  in  the 
street,  hastened  back  at  the  top  of  my  spee.1  t<>  the  quarter  of 
the  town  I  had  left.  The  streets  through  which  I  passed  were 
still  crowded,  but  wore  an  air  not  so  much  of  disorder  as  c.f 
pectation  ;  as  if  the  procession  I  had  followed  had  loft  a  trail 
behind  it.  Here  and  there  I  saw  soldiers  patrolling,  and  warn- 


RIVALS  317 

ing  the  people  to  be  quiet ;  and  everywhere  lots  of  townsmen, 
whispering  and  scowling,  who  stared  at  me  as  I  passed.  Every 
tenth  male  I  saw  was  a  monk,  Dominican  or  Capuchin  ;  and 
though  my  whole  mind  was  bent  on  finding  M.  de  Geol  and 
Buton,  and  learning  from  them  what  they  knew,  as  enemies,  of 
Froment's  plans  and  strength,  I  felt  that  the  city  was  in  an  ab- 
normal state,  and  that  if  I  would  do  anything  before  the  con- 
vulsion took  place  I  must  act  quickly. 

I  was  fortunate  enough  to  find  M.  de  Geol  and  Buton  at  their 
lodgings.  The  former,  whom  I  had  not  seen  since  our  arrival, 
and  who  doubtless  had  his  opinion  of  the  cause  of  my  sudden 
disappearance  in  the  street,  greeted  me  with  a  scowl  and  a  bitter 
sarcasm  ;  but  when  I  had  put  a  few  questions,  and  he  found 
that  I  was  in  earnest,  his  manner  changed.  "  You  may  tell 
him,"  he  said,  nodding  to  Buton. 

Then  I  saw  that  they  too  were  excited,  though  they  would 
fain  hide  it.  "  What  is  it  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Froment's  party  rose  at  Avignon  yesterday,"  he  answered, 
eagerly.  "  Prematurely ;  and  were  crushed — crushed  with  heavy 
loss.  The  news  has  just  arrived.  It  may  hasten  his  plans." 

"  I  saw  soldiers  in  the  street,"  I  said. 

"  Yes,  the  Calvinists  have  asked  for  protection.  But  that  and 
the  patrols,"  De  Geol  answered,  with  a  grim  smile,  "  are  equally  a 
farce.  The  regiment  of  Guienne,  which  is  patriotic,  and  would 
assist  us  and  even  be  some  protection,  is  kept  within  barracks 
by  its  officers  ;  the  mayor  and  municipals  are  red,  and,  whatever 
happens,  will  not  hoist  the  flag  or  call  out  the  troops.  The  Cath- 
olic cabarets  are  alive  with  armed  men.  In  a  word,  my  friend,  if 
Froinent  succeeds  in  mastering  the  town  and  holding  it  three 
days,  M.  d'Artois,  governor  of  Montpellier,  will  be  here  with  his 
garrison,  and — " 
"  "Yes!" 

"  And  what  was  a  riot  will  be  a  revolt !"  he  said,  pithily. 
"  But  there  is  many  a  slip  between  the  cup  and  the  lip,  and 
there  are  more  than  sheep  in  the  Cevennes  Mountains !" 

The  words  had  scarcely  passed  from  his  lips  when  a  man  ran 
into  the  room,  looked  at  us,  and  raised  his  hand  in  a  peculiar 
way.  "Pardon  me,"  said  M.  de  Geul,  quickly;  and  with  a 


318  THE    RED    COCKADE 

muttered  word  he  followed  the  man  out.     Buton  was  not  a  whit 
behind.     In  a  moment  I  was  alone. 

I  supposed  they  would  return,  and  I  waited  impatiently  ;  l>nt 
a  minute  or  two  passed,  and  they  did  not  appear.  At  length, 
tired  of  waiting,  and  wondering  what  was  afoot,  I  went  into 
the  yard  of  the  inn,  and  thence  into  the  street.  Still  I  did  not 
find  them  ;  but  collected  before  the  inn  I  found  a  group  of 
vants  and  others  belonging  to  the  place.  They  were  all  stand- 
ing silent,  listening,  and  as  I  joined  them  one  looked  round 
peevishly,  and  raised  his  hand  as  a  warning  to  me  to  be  quiet. 

Before  I  could  ask  what  it  meant  the  distant  report  of  a  gun, 
followed  quickly  by  a  second  and  a  third,  made  my  heart  beat. 
A  dull  sound — made,  it  might  be,  by  men  shouting  or  the  pas- 
sage of  a  heavy  wagon  over  pavement — ensued  ;  then  more  fir- 
ing, each  report  short,  sharp,  and  decisive.  While  we  listened, 
and  as  the  last  red  glow  of  sunset  faded  on  the  eaves  above  us, 
leaving  the  street  cold  and  gray,  a  bell  somewhere  began  to  toll 
hurriedly,  stroke  upon  stroke,  and  a  man,  dashing  round  a  cor- 
ner not  far  away,  made  towards  us. 

But  the  landlord  of  the  Ecu  did  not  wait  for  him.  "  All  in  !" 
he  cried  to  his  people,  "and  close  the  great  gates!  And  do 
you,  Pierre,  bar  the  shutters.  And  you,  monsieur,"  he  contin- 
ued, hurriedly,  turning  to  me,  "  will  do  well  to  come  in  also. 
The  town  is  up,  and  the  streets  will  not  be  safe  for  strangers." 

But  I  was  already  half-way  down  the  street.  I  met  the  fugi- 
tive, and  he  cried  to  me  as  I  passed  that  the  mob  were  coming. 
I  met  a  frightened  riderless  horse  galloping  madly  along  the 
k«-nncl;  it  swerved  from  me,  and  almost  fell  on  the  slippery 
pavement.  But  I  took  no  heed  of  either.  I  ran  on  until  two 
hundred  paces  before  me  I  saw  smoke  and  dust,  and  dimly 
through  it  a  row  of  soldiers,  who,  with  their  backs  to  me,  were 
slowly  giving  wav  before  a  dense  crowd  that  pressed  upon  them. 
:i  as  I  came  in  sight  of  them  they  seemed  to  break  ami  meft 
away,  and  with  a  roar  of  triumph  the  mob  swept  over  the  place 
on  which  they  had  stood. 

I  had  the  wit  to  see  that  to  force  my  way  past  the  crowd  was 
impossible,  and  I  darted  aside  into  a  narrow  passage,  darkened 
by  wide,  flat  caves  that  almost  hid  the  pale  evening  sky.  This 


RIVALS  319 

brought  me  to  a  lane,  full  of  women,  standing  listening  with 
scared  faces.  I  hurried  through  them,  and  when  I  had  gone, 
as  I  judged,  far  enough  to  outflank  the  mob,  chose  a  lane  that 
appeared  to  lead  in  the  direction  of  Father  Benoit's  house. 
Fortunately,  the  crowd  was  engaged  in  the  main  streets,  the 
byways  were  comparatively  deserted,  and  without  accident  I 
reached  the  little  square  by  the  gate. 

Probably  the  attack  on  the  soldiers  had  begun  there,  or  in 
that  neighborhood,  for  a  broken  musket  lay  in  two  pieces  on 
the  pavement,  and  pale  faces  at  upper  windows  followed  me  in 
a  strange,  unwinking  silence  as  I  crossed  the  square.  But  no 
man  was  to  be  seen,  and  unmolested  I  reached  the  door  of  Fa- 
ther Benoit's  staircase  and  entered. 

In  the  open  the  light  was  still  good,  but  within  doors  it  was 
dusk,  and  I  had  not  taken  two  steps  before  I  tripped  and  fell 
headlong  over  some  object  that  lay  in  my  way.  I  struck  the 
foot  of  the  stairs  heavily,  and  got  up  groaning,  but  ceased  to 
groan  and  held  my  breath  as,  peering  through  the  half-light 
of  the  entry,  I  saw  over  what  I  had  fallen.  It  was  a  man's 
body. 

The  man  was  a  monk,  in  the  black  and  white  robe  of  his 
order,  and  he  was  quite  dead.  It  took  me  an  instant  to  over- 
come the  horror  of  the  discovery,  but  that  done,  I  saw  easily 
enough  how  the  corpse  came  to  be  there.  Doubtless  the  man 
had  been  shot  in  the  street  at  the  beginning  of  the  riot ;  per- 
haps he  had  been  the  first  to  attack  the  patrol,  and  the  body 
had  been  dragged  into  shelter  here  while  his  party  swept  on  to 
vengeance. 

I  stooped  and  reverently  adjusted  the  cowl,  which  my  foot 
had  dragged  away ;  and  that  done — it  was  no  time  for  senti- 
ment— I  turned  from  him  and  hurried  up  the  stairs.  Alas, 
when  I  reached  Father  Benoit's  room  it  was  empty. 

\Yondering  what  I  should  do  next,  I  stood  a  moment  in  the 
failing  light.  Then  I  walked  aimlessly  to  the  casement  and 
looked  out.  In  the  dull,  almost  blind  wall  which  met  my  eyes 
across  the  court  was  one  window  on  a  level  with  that  at  which 
I  stood,  but  a  lifctle  to  the  side.  On  a  sudden,  as  I  stared  stu- 
pidly at  the  wall  near  it,  a  bright  light  shone  out  in  this  win- 


320  THE    RED    COCKAHK 

dow.     A  lamp  had  been  kindled  in  the  room,  and  darkly  outlined 
against  the  glow  I  saw  the  head  and  shoulders  of  a  woman. 

I  almost  screamed  a  name.     It  was  Denise ! 

Even  while  I  held  my  breath  she  moved  from  the  window,  a 
curtain  was  drawn,  and  all  was  dark.  Only  the  plain  lines  of  the 
window — and  those  fast  fading  in  the  gloom — remained  ;  only 
those  and  the  gloomy,  well-like  court,  that  separated  me  from 
her. 

I  leaned  a  moment  on  the  sill,  my  heart  bounding  quicklv,  my 
thoughts  working  with  inconceivable  rapidity.  She  was  ti 
in  the  house  opposite  !  It  seemed  too  wonderful ;  it  seemed 
inexplicable.  Then  I  reflected  that  the  house  stood  next  to  the 
old  gate  I  had  seen  from  the  street ;  and  had  not  some  one  told 
me  that  Froment  lived  in  the  Porte  d'Auguste  ? 

Doubtless  this  was  it;  and  she  lay  in  his  power  in  this  house 
that  adjoined  it  and  was  one  with  it.  I  leaned  farther  out, 
partly  that  I  might  cool  my  burning  face,  partly  to  see  more  ; 
my  eyes,  greedily  scanning  the  front  of  the  house,  traced  the  line 
of  arrow-slits  that  marked  the  ascent  of  the  staircase.  I  follow- 
ed the  line  downward  ;  it  ended  beside  the  porch  surmounted 
by  a  little  statue  at  which  I  had  seen  the  two  men  enter. 

They  were  still  fighting  in  the  town.  I  could  hear  the  dull 
sound  of  distant  volleys  and  the  tolling  of  bells,  and  now  and 
then  a  wave  of  noise,  of  screams  and  yells,  that  rose  and  sank 
on  the  evening  air.  But  my  eyes  were  on  the  porch  below ;  and 
suddenly  I  had  a  thought.  I  followed  the  line  of  arrow-slits  up 
again — it  was  too  dark  in  the  sombre  court  to  see  them  well — 
and  marked  the  position  of  the  window  at  which  Denise  had 
appeared.  Then  I  turned  and,  passing  through  the  room,  groped 
my  way  down-stairs. 

I  had  no  light,  and  I  had  to  go  carefully  with  one  hand  on 
the  grimy  wall ;  but  I  knew  now  where  the  monk's  body  lay, 
and  I  stepped  over  it  safely  and  to  the  door,  and  putting  out 
my  head,  looked  up  and  down. 

Two  men,  as  I  did  so,  passed  hurriedly  thnm^h  the  little 
square,  and,  before  reaching  the  gate,  dived  into  an  entry  <>n 
the  right  and  disappeared.  About  the  eaves  of  the  highest 
house,  that  towered  high  and  black  above  me,  a  faint  ruddy 


RIVALS  321 

light  was  beginning  to  dance.  I  heard  voices  that  came,  I 
thought,  from  the  tower  of  the  gateway ;  and  there,  too,  I 
thought  that  I  saw  a  figure  outlined  against  the  sky.  But 
otherwise  all  was  quiet  in  the  neighborhood;  and  I  went  in 
again. 

No  matter  what  I  did  in  the  darkness  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs ; 
I  hate  to  recall  it.  But  in  a  minute  or  two  I  came  out  a  monk 
in  cowl  and  girdle.  Then  I,  too,  dived  into  the  entry,  and  in  a 
trice  found  myself  in  the  court.  Before  me  was  the  porch, 
and  with  the  barrel  of  the  broken  musket,  which  I  had  snatched 
up  as  I  passed,  I  struck  twice  on  the  pavement. 

I  had  no  time  to  think  what  would  happen  next  or  what  I  was 
going  to  confront.  The  door  opened  as  by  magic,  and  I  went 
in  ;  the  door  closed  silently  behind  me. 

I  found  myself  in  a  long,  bare  hall  or  corridor,  plain  and  un- 
furnished, that  had  once  perhaps  been  a  cloister.  A  lighted 
lamp  hung  against  a  wall,  and  opposite  me,  on  a  stone  seat,  sat 
two  persons  talking ;  three  or  four  others  were  walking  up  and 
down.  All  paused  at  my  entrance,  however,  and  looked  at  me 
eagerly.  "  Whence  are  you,  brother?"  said  one  of  them,  ad- 
vancing to  me. 

"  The  Cabaret  Vierge,"  I  answered,  at  a  venture.  The  light 
dazzled  me,  and  I  raised  my  hand  to  ward  it  off. 

"  For  the  chief  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Come  quickly  then,"  the  man  said ;  "  he  is  on  the  roof.  It 
goes  well  ?"  he  continued,  looking  with  a  smile  at  my  weapon. 

"  It  goes,"  I  answered,  holding  my  head  low,  so  that  my  face 
was  lost  in  the  cowl. 

"  They  are  beginning  to  light  up,  I  am  told  ?" 

«  Yes." 

He  took  up  a  small  lamp,  and,  opening  a  door  in  a  kind  of 
buttress  that  strengthened  one  of  the  arches,  he  led  the  way 
through  it,  and  up  a  narrow  winding  staircase  made  in  the  thick- 
ness of  the  wall.  Presently  we  passed  an  open  door,  and  I 
ticked  it  off  in  my  mind.  It  led  to  the  rooms  on  the  first  floor. 
Twenty  steps  higher  we  passed  another  door,  closed  this  time. 
Again  fifteen  steps  and  we  came  to  a  third.  That  floor  held  my 


322  THE    RED    COCKADE 

heart,  and  I  looked  round  greedily,  desperately,  for  some  way 
of  evading  my  guide  and  so  reaching  it.  But  I  saw  only  the 
smooth  stones  of  the  wall ;  and  he  continued  to  climb. 

I  halted  half  a  dozen  steps  higher.  "  What  is  it  ?"  he  asked, 
looking  down  at  me. 

"  I  have  dropped  a  note,"  I  said  ;  and  I  began  to  grope  about 
the  steps. 

"  For  the  chief  ?" 

-  Yes." 

••  Here,  take  the  light !"  he  answered,  impatiently.  "And  be 
quick  !  if  your  news  be  worth  the  telling,  it  is  worth  telling 
quickly.  Sacref  man,  what  have  you  done  ?" 

I  had  let  the  lamp  fall  on  the  steps,  extinguishing  it ;  and  we 
were  in  darkness.     In  the  moment  of  silence  which  followed, 
before  he  recovered  from  his  surprise,  I  could  hear  the  voice 
men  above  us,  and  the  tramp  of  their  feet  on  the  roof  ;  and  ;i 
cold  draught  of  air  met  me.     He  swore  another  oath, 
down,  get   down!"  he  cried,  angrily,  "and  let  me  pass  YOU! 
You  are  a  pretty  messenger  to —     There  !  wait — wait   until  I 
fetch  another  light." 

He  squeezed  by  me,  and  left  me  standing  in  the  very  place  I 
would  have  chosen,  in  the  angle  of  the  doorway  we  had  just 
passed  ;  before  he  had  clattered  down  half  a  dozen  steps  I  had 
my  finger  on  the  latch.  To  my  joy  the  door — which  might  so 
easily  have  been  locked — yielded  to  my  knee,  and 
through  it,  I  closed  it  behind  me.  Then  turning  to  the  right — 
all  was  still  dark — I  groped  my  way  along  the  wall  through 
which  I  had  entered.  I  knew  it  to  be  the  outside  wall,  and 
dimly  in  front  I  discerned  the  faint  radiance  <>f  a  window. 

N<.w-  that  the  moment  had  come  to  put  all  to  the  test  I  was 
as  calm  as  I  could  wish  to  be.  I  counted  ten  paces,  and  came, 
as  I  expected,  to  the  window;  ten  paces  farther  and  I  felt  my 
way  barred  by  a  door.  This  should  l>e  the  room — the  last  that 
way;  listening  intently  for  the  tirst  sounds  of  pursuit  or  alarm, 
1  felt  about  for  a  latch,  found  it,  and  tried  the  door.  Again 
fortune  favored  me;  it  came  to  my  hand  ;  but  instead  of  light  I 
found  all  dark  as  before;  and  then  under>t".,d,  a^  I  --truck  with 
some  violence  against  a  second  door. 


"  WE   PASSED   ANOTHER   DOOR,  CLOSED   THIS   TIME " 


RIVALS  325 

A  stifled  cry  in  a  woman's  voice  came  from  beyond  it;  and 
some  one  asked,  sharply,  "  Who  is  that  ?" 

I  gave  no  answer,  but  searched  for  the  latch,  found  it,  and  in 
a  moment  the  door  was  opened.  The  light  which  poured  out 
dazzled  me  for  a  second  or  two;  but  while  I  stood  blinking, 
under  the  lamp  I  had  a  vision  of  two  girls  standing  at  bay,  one 
behind  the  other,  and  the  nearer  was  Denise  ! 

I  stepped  towards  her  with  a  cry  of  joy ;  she  retreated  with 
terror  written  on  her  face.  "  What  do  you  want  ?"  she  stam- 
mered as  she  retreated.  "  You  have  made  some  mistake. 
We—" 

Then  I  remembered  the  guise  in  which  I  stood,  and  the  gun- 
barrel  in  my  hand,  and  I  dashed  back  the  cowl  from  my  face ; 
and  in  a  moment — it  was  of  all  surprises  the  most  joyous,  for  I 
had  not  seen  her  since  we  sat  opposite  one  another  in  the  car- 
riage, and  then  only  a  word  had  passed  between  us — in  a  mo- 
ment she  was  in  my  arms,  on  my  breast,  and  sobbing  with  her 
head  hidden  and  my  lips  on  her  hair. 

"  They  told  me  you  were  dead  !"  she  cried.  "  They  told  me 
you  were  dead  !" 

Then  I  understood ;  and  I  held  her  to  me,  held  her  to  me 
more  and  more  closely,  and  said — God  knows  what  I  said.  And 
for  the  moment  she  let  me,  and  we  forgot  all  else — our  danger, 
the  dark  future,  even  the  woman  who  stood  by.  We  had  been 
plighted  before,  and  it  had  been  nothing  to  us  ;  now,  with  my 
lips  on  hers,  and  her  arms  clinging,  I  knew  that  it  was  once  for 
all,  and  that  only  death,  if  death,  could  part  us. 

Alas  !  that  was  not  so  far  from  us  that  we  could  long  ignore  it. 
In  a  minute  or  two  she  freed  herself,  and  thrust  me"  from  her, 
her  face  pale  and  red  by  turns,  her  eyes  soft  and  shining  in  the 
lamplight.  "How  do  you  come  here,  monsieur?"  she  cried. 
"  And  in  that  dress?" 

"  To  see  you,"  I  answered.  And  at  the  word  I  stepped  for- 
ward and  would  have  taken  her  in  my  arms  again. 

But  she  waved  me  back.  "  Oh,  no,  no  !"  she  cried,  shudder- 
ing. "  Xot  now  !  Do  you  know  that  they  will  kill  you?  Do 
you  know  that  they  will  kill  you  if  they  find  you  here  ?  Go  ! 
go  !  I  beg  of  you,  while  you  can." 


:'•-•.»  THE    KEO    C'OCKADK 

"  And  leave  ymi  .'" 

"  Yes,  and  leave  me,"  she  answered,  with  a  gesture  of  de- 
spair. "  I  implore  you  to  do  so." 

"  And  leave  you  to  Froment  ?"  I  cried  again. 

She  looked  at  me  in  a  different  way  and  with  a  little  start. 
"  You  know  that  '"  she  said. 

"  Yes,"  I  answered. 

"  Then   know  this   too,  monsieur,"  she  replied,  raising  her 
head,  and  meeting  my  eyes  with  the  hravest  look.     "  Know  this  \ 
too,  that  whatever  betide,  I  shall  not  after  this  marry  him,  nor 
any  man  but  you  !" 

I  would  have  fallen  on  my  knees  and  kissed  the  hem  of  her 
gown  for  that  word,  but  she  drew  back,  and  passionately  begged 
me  to  be  gone.  "  This  house  is  not  safe  for  you,"  she  said.  "  It 
is  death,  it  is  death,  monsieur  !  My  mother  is  merciless  ;  my 
brother  is  here ;  and  he — the  house  is  full  of  his  sworn  creat- 
ures. You  escaped  him  hardly  before;  if  he  finds  you  here 
now  he  will  kill  you." 

"But  if  I  need  fear  him  so,"  I  answered,  grimly — for  I  saw, 
now  that  she  had  ceased  to  blush,  how  pale  and  wan  she  was,  and 
what  dark  marks  fear  had  painted  under  her  eyes,  child's  . 
no  longer,  but  a  woman's — "  if  I  need  fear  him  so,  what  of  you  ? 
What  of  you,  mademoiselle  ?    Am  I  to  leave  you  at  his  mercy  ?" 

She  looked  at  me  with  a  strange  gravity  in  her  face ;  and  an- 
swered me  so  that  I  never  forgot  her  answer.  "  Mon>ietir."  she- 
said,  "  was  I  afraid  on  the  roof  of  the  house  at  St.  Alais  .'  And 
I  have  more  to  guard  now.  Have  no  fear?  there  is  a  roof  h> 
too,  and  I  walk  on  it ;  nor  shall  my  husk-md  ever  have  cause  to 
blush  for  me." 

"But  I  was  there,"  I  said,  quickly.  Heaven  knows  why;  it 
was  a  strange  tiling  to  say.  Yet  she  did  not  find  it  so. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  and  smiled;  and  with  the  smile  her  face 
burned  attain  and  her  eyes  grew  soft,  and  all  her  dignity  fled  in 
a  moment,  and  she  looked  at  me  drooping.  And  in  an  instant 
she  was  in  my  arms. 

But  only  for  a  few  seconds.  Then  she  tore  herself  away  al- 
most in  anger.  "  Oh,  go,  go  !"  she  cried.  "  If  you  love  me,  go, 
monsieur." 


'THKY  TOLD  ME  YOU  WKRK  DKAD!'  SHE  CRIED" 


RIVALS  329 

"  Swear,"  I  said,  "  to  put  a  handkerchief  in  your  window  if 
you  want  help  !" 

"  In  my  window  ?" 

"  I  can  see  it  from  Father  Benoit's." 

A  gleam  of  joy  lit  up  her  face.  "  I  will,"  she  said.  "  Oh, 
God  be  thanked  that  you  are  so  near !  I  will.  But  I  have 
Franchise,  too,  and  she  is  true  to  me.  As  long  as  I  have  her — 

She  stopped  with  her  lips  apart,  and  the  blood  gone  suddenly 
from  her  cheeks ;  and  we  looked  at  one  another.  Alas,  I  had 
stayed  too  long !  There  was  a  noise  of  feet  coming  along  the 
passage,  and  a  hubbub  of  voices  outside,  and  the  clatter  of  a 
door  hastily  closed.  I  think  for  a  moment  we  scarcely  breathed ; 
and  even  after  that  it  was  her  woman  who  was  the  first  to  move. 
She  sprang  to  the  door  and  softly  locked  it. 

"  It  is  vain  !"  Denise  said,  in  a  harsh  whisper ;  she  leaned 
against  the  table ;  her  face  grew  as  white  as  snow.  "  They  will 
fetch  my  mother,  and  they  will  kill  you." 

"There  is  no  other  door?"  I  muttered,  staring  round  with 
hunted  eyes,  and  feeling  for  the  first  time  the  full  danger  of  the 
course  I  had  taken. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  What  is  that  ?"  I  cried,  pointing  to  the  farther  end  of  the 
chamber,  where  a  bed  stood  in  the  alcove. 

"A  closet,"  the  woman  answered,  almost  with  a  sob.  "  Yes, 
yes,  monsieur,  they  may  not  search.  Quick,  and  I  can  lock  it." 

In  such  a  case  a  man  acts  on  instinct.  I  heard  the  latch  of 
the  door  tried,  and  then  some  one  knocked  peremptorily  ;  and  so 
long  I  hesitated.  But  a  second  knock  followed  on  the  first,  and 
a  voice  I  knew  cried,  imperatively,  "  Open,  open,  Franchise  !" 
and  I  moved  towards  the  closet.  The  girl,  distracted  by  the  re- 
peated summons  and  her  terror,  hung  a  moment  between  me  and 
the  door  of  the  room  ;  but  in  the  end  had  to  go  to  the  latter,  so 
that  I  drew  the  closet  door  upon  myself. 

Then  in  a  moment  it  came  upon  me  that  if,  hiding  there,  I 
were  found,  I  should  shame  Denise ;  it  darted  through  my  brain 
that  if,  lurking  there  behind  the  closed  doors  among  her  woman's 
things,  I  were  caught,  I  should  harm  her  a  hundred  times  more 
than  if  I  stood  out  in  the  middle  of  the  floor  and  faced  the 


330  THE    KED    COCKADE 

worst.  And  with  my  face  on  fire  at  the  mere  thought,  I  opened 
the  door  again  and  stepped  out,  and  was  just  in  time.  Fur  as 
as  the  door  of  the  room  flew  open,  and  M.  de  St.  Alais  strode  in 
and  looked  round,  I  was  the  first  person  he  saw. 

There  were  three  or  four  men  behind  him,  and  among  them 
the  man  whom  I  had  cheated  on  the  stairs.     But  M.  St.  Ai .. 
eyes,  blazing  with  wrath,  caught  mine  and  held  them,  and  the 
others  were  nothing  to  me. 


CHAPTER  XXII 
NOBLESSE      OBLIGE 

YET  he  was  not  the  first  to  speak.  One  of  the  men  behind 
him  took  a  step  forward  and  cried :  "  That  is  the  man  !  See,  he 
still  has  the  gun-barrel." 

"  Seize  him,  then,"  M.  de  St.  Alais  replied,  "  and  take  him 
from  here  !  Monsieur,"  he  continued,  addressing  me  grimly, 
and  with  a  grim  eye,  "  whoever  you  are,  when  you  undertook 
to  be  a  spy  you  counted  the  cost,  I  suppose  ?  Take  him  away, 
my  men  !" 

Two  of  the  fellows  strode  forward,  and  in  a  moment  seized 
my  arms  ;  and  in  the  surprise  of  M.  de  St.  Alais's  appearance 
and  the  astonishment  his  words  caused  me,  I  made  no  resistance. 
But  in  such  emergencies  the  mind  works  quickly,  and  in  a  trice 
I  recovered  myself.  "  This  is  nonsense,  M.  de  St.  Alais,"  I 
said.  "  You  know  well  that  I  am  no  spy.  You  know  why  I  am 
here.  And  for  the  matter  of  that — " 

"  I  know  nothing,"  he  answered. 

"  But—" 

"  I  know  nothing,  I  say,"  he  repeated,  with  a  mocking  gest- 
ure. "  Except,  monsieur,  that  we  find  yon  here  in  a  monk's 
dress,  when  you  are  clearly  no  monk.  You  had  better  have 
tried  to  swim  the  Rhone  at  flood  than  entered  this  house  to- 
night— I  tell  you  that  I  Now  away  with  him  !  His  case  will 
be  dealt  with  below." 

But  this  was  too  much.  I  wrested  my  hands  from  the  men 
who  held  me  and  sprang  back.  "  You  lie  !"  I  cried.  "  You 
know  who  I  am  and  why  I  am  here !" 

"  I  do  not  know  you,"  he  answered,  stubbornly.  "  Nor  do  I 
know  why  you  are  here.  I  once  knew  a  man  like  you ;  that  is 


332  THE    RED    COCKADE 

true.  But  he  was  a  gentleman,  and  would  have  died  before  he 
would  have  saved  himself  by  a  lie — by  a  trumped-up  tale.  Take 
him  away.  He  has  frightened  mademoiselle  to  death.  I  sup- 
pose he  found  the  door  open,  and  slipped  in,  and  thought  him- 
self safe." 

At  last  I  understood  what  he  meant ;  and  that  in  his  passion 
he  would  sacrifice  me  rather  than  bring  in  his  sister's  name. 
Nay,  I  saw  more-  that  he  viewed  with  a  cruel  exultation  the 
dilemma  in  which  he  had  placed  me ;  and  my  brow  grew  damp 
as  I  looked  round  wildly,  trying  to  solve  the  question.  I  had 
the  sounds  of  street  fighting  still  in  my  ears  ;  I  knew  that  men 
staking  all  in  such  a  strife  owned  few  scruples  and  scant  nu-n-v. 
I  could  see  that  this  man  in  particular  was  maddened  by  the 
losses  and  humiliations  which  he  had  suffered  ;  and  I  stood  in 
the  way  of  his  schemes.  The  risk  existed,  therefore,  and  was 
no  mere  threat ;  it  seemed  foolish  quixotism  to  run  it. 

And  yet — and  yet  I  hesitated.  I  even  let  the  men  urge  me 
half  way  to  the  door;  and  then — Heaven  knows  what  I  should 
have  done,  or  whether  I  could  have  seen  my  way  plainly — the 
knot  was  cut  for  me.  With  a  scream  Denise,  who  since  her 
brother's  entrance  had  leaned,  half  fainting,  against  the  wall, 
sprang  forward  and  seized  him  by  the  arm. 

"No,  no!"  she  cried,  in  a  choked  voice.  "No!  You  will 
not — you  will  not  do  this  !  Have  pity,  have  mercy  !  I — " 

••  Mademoiselle,"  he  said,  cutting  her  short  quietly,  but  \\ith 
a  gleam  of  rage  in  his  eyes,  "you  are  overwrought,  and  f«u^, ; 
yourself.  The  scene  has  been  too  much  for  you.  Here,"  he 
continued,  sharply,  to  the  maid,  "take  care  of  your  mistress. 
The  man  is  a  spy,  and  not  worthy  of  her  pity.'' 

But  Denise  clung  to  him.  "  He  is  no  spy  !"  she  cried,  in  a 
voice  that  went  to  my  heart.  "  He  is  no  spy,  and  you  know  it  !" 

••  Hush,  girl  !     Be  silent!"  he  answered,  furiously. 

But  he  had  not  counted  on  the  change  hi  her,  beside  which 
the  change  in  liim  was  petty.  "  I  will  not!"  she  answered,  "  I 
will  not!"  And  to  my  astonishment,  releasing  the  arm  to  which 
she  had  hitherto  clung,  and  shaking  back  from  her  face  the  hair 
which  her  violent  movements  had  loosened,  she  stood  out  and 
defied  him.  "  I  will  not !"  she  cried.  "  He  is  no  spy,  and  you 


;  HE    IS   NO   SPY,'  DENISE    CRIED,   IS    A   VOICE   THAT    WENT   TO   MY   HEART  " 


NOBLESSE    OBLIGE  335 

know  it,  monsieur !  He  is  ray  lover,"  she  continued,  with  a 
superb  gesture,  "  and  he  came  to  see  me.  Do  you  understand  ? 
He  was  contracted  to  me,  and  he  came  to  see  me !" 

"  Girl,  are  you  mad  ?"  he  snarled,  in  the  breathless  hush  of 
the  room — the  hush  that  followed  as  all  looked  at  her. 

"  I  am  not  mad,"  she  answered,  her  eyes  burning  in  her  white 
face. 

"  Then  if  you  feel  no  shame,  do  you  feel  no  fear  ?"  he  retort- 
ed, in  a  terrible  voice. 

"  No  !"  she  cried.     "  For  I  love  !     And  I  love  him." 

I  will  not  say  what  I  felt  when  I  heard  that,  myself  helpless. 
For  one  thing,  I  was  in  so  great  a  rage  I  scarcely  knew  what  I 
felt;  and  for  another,  the  words  were  barely  spoken  before  M. 
le  Marquis  seized  the  girl  roughly  round  the  waist  and  dragged 
her,  screaming  and  resisting,  to  the  other  end  of  the  room. 

This  was  the  signal  for  a  scene  indescribable.  I  sprang  for- 
ward to  protect  her  ;  in  an  instant  the  three  men  flung  them- 
selves upon  me,  and  bore  me  by  sheer  weight  towards  the  door. 
St.  Alais,  foaming  with  rage,  shouted  to  them  to  remove  me, 
while  I  called  him  coward  and  cursed  him  and  strove  desper- 
ately to  get  at  him.  For  a  moment  I  made  head  against  them 
all,  though  they  were  three  to  one  ;  the  maid's  screaming  added 
to  the  uproar.  Then  the  odds  prevailed,  and  in  a  minute  they 
had  me  out,  and  had  closed  the  door  on  her  and  her  cries. 

I  was  panting,  breathless,  furious.  But  the  moment  it  was 
done  and  the  door  shut  a  kind  of  calm  fell  upon  us.  The  men 
relaxed  their  hold  on  me,  and  stood  looking  at  me  quietly,  while 
I  leaned  against  the  wall  and  glowered  at  them.  Then,  "There, 
monsieur,  let  us  have  no  more  of  that,"  one  of  them  said,  civilly 
enough.  "  Go  peaceably,  and  we  will  be  easy  with  you.  Other- 
wise— " 

"  He  is  a  cowardly  hound  !"  I  cried,  with  a  sob. 

"  Softly,  monsieur,  softly." 

There  were  five  of  them,  for  two  had  remained  at  the  door. 
The  passage  was  dark,  but  they  had  a  lantern,  and  we  waited 
in  silence  two  or  three  minutes.  Then  the  door  opened  a  few 
inches,  and  the  man  who  seemed  to  be  the  leader  went  to  it, 
and,  having  received  his  orders,  returned. 


336  THK    RED    COCKADK 

"  Forward  !"  he  said.  "  In  Number  6.  And  do  you,  Pctitot, 
fetch  the  key." 

The  man  named  went  off  quickly,  and  we  followed  more  slow- 
ly along  the  corridor,  the  steady  tramp  of  my  guards,  as  they 
marched  beside  me,  awaking  sullen  echoes  that  rolled  away 
before  us.  The  yellow  light  of  the  lantern  showed  a  white- 
washed wall  on  either  side,  broken  on  the  right  hand  by  a  dull 
line  of  doors,  as  of  cells.  We  halted  presently  before  one  of 
these,  and  I  thought  I  was  to  be  confined  there  ;  and  my  cour- 
age rose,  for  I  should  still  be  near  Denise.  But  the  door,  when 
opened,  disclosed  only  a  little  staircase,  which  we  descended  in 
single  file,  and  so  reached  a  bare  corridor  similar  to  that  above, 
Half-way  along  this  we  stopped  again,  beside  an  open  window, 
through  which  the  night  wind  came  in  so  strongly  as  to  stir  the 
hair,  and  force  the  man  who  carried  the  lantern  to  shield  the 
light  under  his  skirts.  And  not  the  night  wind  only;  with  it 
entered  all  the  noises  of  the  night  and  the  disturbed  city  ;  hoarse 
cries  and  cheers,  and  the  shrill  monotonous  jangle  of  bells,  and 
now  and  then  a  pistol-shot — noises  that  told  only  too  eloquently 
what  was  passing  under  the  black  veil  that  hid  the  chaos  of 
streets  and  houses  below  us.  Nay,  in  one  place  the  veil  was 
rent,  and  through  the  gap  a  ruddy  column  poured  up  from  the 
roofs,  dispersing  sparks — the  hot  glare  of  some  great  fire,  that, 
blazing  in  the  heart  of  the  city,  seemed  to  make  the  sky  sharer 
in  the  deeds  and  horrors  that  lay  beneath  it. 

The  men  with  me  pressed  to  the  window,  and  peered  through 
it,  and  strained  eyes  and  ears;  and  little  wonder.  Little  won- 
der, too,  that  the  man  who  was  responsible  for  all,  and  had  staked 
all,  walked  the  roof  above  with  tireless  steps.  For  the  stru_ 
below  was  the  one  great  struggle  of  the  world,  the  stiii^i:''  that 
never  ceases  between  the  old  and  the  new  ;  and  it  was  being 
fought  as  it  had  been  fought  in  Nimes  for  centuries,  savagely, 
ruthlessly,  over  kennels  running  with  blood.  Nor  could  the 
is>~iie  lit-  told  ;  only,  that  as  it  was  here,  it  was  likely  to  l>e 
through  half  of  France.  "NYe  who  stood  at  that  window  looked 
into  the  darkness  with  actual  eyes  ;  but  across  the  border  at 
Turin,  and  nearer  at  Sommieres  and  Montpcllier,  thousands  of 
Frenchmen  bearing  the  greatest  names  of  France  watched  also — 


'THE  MAN  WHO  WAS  RESPONSIBLE  FOR  ALL  WALKED  THE  ROOF  ABOVE 
WITH  FRETFUL  STEPS  " 


NOBLESSE    OBLIGE  339 

watched  with  faces  turned  to  Nimes,  and  hearts  as  anxious  as 
ours. 

I  gathered  from  the  talk  of  those  round  me  that  M.  Froment 
had  seized  the  Arenes  and  garrisoned  it,  and  that  the  flames 
we  saw  were  those  of  one  of  the  Protestant  churches ;  that  as 
yet  the  patriots,  taken  by  surprise,  made  little  resistance,  and 
that  if  the  Reds  could  hold  for  twenty-four  hours  longer  what 
they  had  seized,  the  arrival  of  the  troops  from  Montpellier  would 
then  secure  all,  and  at  the  same  time  stamp  the  movement  with 
the  approval  of  the  highest  parties. 

"  But  it  was  a  near  thing,"  one  of  the  men  muttered.  "  If 
we  had  not  been  at  their  throats  to-night,  they  would  have  been 
at  ours  to-morrow  !" 

"  And  now,  not  half  the  companies  have  turned  out." 

"  But  the  villages  will  come  in  in  the  morning,"  a  third  cried, 
eagerly.  "  They  are  to  toll  all  the  bells  from  here  to  the  Rhone." 

"  Aye,  but  what  if  the  Cevennols  come  in  first  ?  What  then, 
man  ?" 

No  one  had  an  answer  to  this,  and  all  stood  watching  eagerly, 
until  the  sound  of  footsteps  approaching  along  the  passage 
caused  the  men  to  draw  in  their  heads.  "  Here  is  the  key," 
said  the  leader.  "  Now,  monsieur !" 

But  it  was  not  the  key  that  disturbed  us,  nor  Petitot,  who 
had  been  sent  for  it,  but  a  very  tall  man,  cloaked,  and  wearing 
his  hat,  who  came  hastily  along  the  corridor  with  three  or  four 
behind  him.  As  he  approached  he  called  out,  "  Is  Buzeaud 
here  2" 

The  man  who  had  spoken  before  stood  out  respectfully. 
"  Yes,  monsieur." 

"  Take  half  a  dozen  men,  the  stoutest  you  have  down-stairs," 
the  new-comer  answered — it  was  Froment  himself — "  and  get 
as  many  more  from  the  Vierge,  and  barricade  the  street  leading 
beside  the  barracks  to  the  Arsenal.  You  will  fincf  plenty  of 
helpers.  And  occupy  some  of  the  houses  so  as  to  command 
the  street.  And —  But  what  is  this?"  he  continued, breaking 

o 

off  sharply,  as  his  eyes,  passing  over  the  group,  stopped  at  me. 
"  How  does  this  gentleman  come  here  ?    And  in  this  dress?" 
"  AI.  le  Marquis  arrested  him — up-stairs." 

17 


U4U  1IIH     RED    COCKADE 

"  M.  lo  Man  p. 

"  Yes,  monsieur,  and  ordered  him  to  be  confined  in    ' 
for  the  present." 
-Ah!" 

"  As  ;i  spy." 

M.  Froment  whistled  softly,  and  for  a  moment  we  looked  at 
one  another.  The  wavering  light  of  the  lanterns,  and  perhaps 
the  tension  of  the  man's  feelings,  deepened  the  harsh  lines  of 
his  massive  features,  and  darkened  the  shadows  about  his  eyes 
and  mouth;  but  presently  he  drew  a  deep  breath  and  smiled, 
as  if  something  whimsical  in  the  situation  struek  him.  "  So 
we  meet  again,  M.  le  Vieomte,"  he  said  with  that.  "  I  remem- 
ber now  that  I  have  something  of  yours.  You  have  come  for 
it,  I  suppose  ?" 

••  Y<  s,  monsieur,  I  have  come  for  it,"  I  said,  defiantly,  giving 
him  hack  look  for  look ;  and  I  saw  that  he  understood. 

"  And  M.  le  Marquis  found  you  up-stairs  ?" 

••  Y 

"  Ah  !"  For  a  moment  lie  seemed  to  reflect.  Then  turning 
to  the  men,  "  Well,  you  can  go,  Buzeaud.  I  will  be  answera- 
ble for  this  gentleman — who  had  letter  remove  that  masquerade. 
And  do  you,"  he  continued,  addressing  the  two  or  three  who 
had  come  with  him,  "  wait  for  me  above.  Tell  M.  Flandrin — 
it  is  my  last  word — that  whatever  happens  the  mayor  must  not 
raise  the  flag  for  the  troops.  He  may  tell  him  what  he  pie  . 
from  me — that  I  will  hang  him  from  the  highest  window  of  the 
tower,  if  he  likes — hut  it  must  not  be  done.  You  understand  .'" 

"  Yes,  monsieur." 

"  Then  go.     I  will  be  with  you  presently." 

They  went,  leaving  a  lantern  on  the  floor;  and  in  a  moment 
Froment  and  I  were  alone.  I  stood  expectant,  hut  he  did  not 
look  at  me.  Instead,  he  turned  t<>  the  open  window,  and  lean- 
ing on  the*  sill,  gazed  into  the  night,  and  so  remained  for  some 
time  silent;  whether  the  orders  he  had  just  given  had  reallv 
diverted  his  thoughts  into  another  channel,  or  he  had  not  made 
up  his  mind  how  to  treat  me,  I  cannot  determine.  More  than 
once  T  heard  him  sigh,  however;  and  at  last  he  said,  abruptly, 
••  (  Mily  three  companies  have  risen?" 


NOBLESSE    OBLIGE  341 

I  do  not  know  what  moved  me,  but  I  answered  in  the  same 
spirit.  "  Out  of  how  many  ?"  I  said,  coolly. 

"  Thirteen,"  he  answered.  "  We  are  outnumbered.  But  we 
moved  first,  we  have  the  upper  hand,  and  we  must  keep  it. 
And  if  the  villagers  come  in  to-morrow — " 

"  And  the  Cevennols  do  not." 

"  Yes ;  and  if  the  officers  can  hold  the  Guienne  regiment 
within  barracks,  and  the  mayor  does  not  hoist  the  flag  calling 
them  out,  and  the  Calvinists  do  not  surprise  the  Arsenal — I 
think  we  may  be  able  to  do  so." 

"  But  the  chances  are — " 

"  Against  us.  The  more  need,  monsieur " —  for  the  first 
time  he  turned  and  looked  at  me,  with  a  sort  of  -dark  pride 
glowing  in  his  face — "  of  a  man  !  For — do  you  know  what  we 
are  fighting  for  down  there  ?  France  !  France  !"  he  continued, 
bitterly,  and  letting  his  emotion  appear,  "and  I  have  a  few 
hundred  cutthroats  and  rascals  and  shavelings  to  do  the  work, 
while  all  the  time  your  fine  gentlemen  lie  safe  and  warm  across 
the  frontier,  waiting  to  see  what  will  happen  !  And  I  run  risks, 
and  they  hold  the  stakes !  I  kill  the  bear,  and  they  take  the 
skin.  They  are  safe,  and  if  I  fail  I  hang  like  Favras  !  Faugh  ! 
It  is  enough  to  make  a  man  turn  patriot  and  cry,  '  Vive  la  Na- 
tion!'" 

He  did  not  wait  for  my  answer,  but  impatiently  snatching  up 
the  lantern,  he  made  a  sign  to  me  to  follow  him,  and  led  the 
way  down  the  passage.  He  had  said  not  a  word  of  my  pres- 
ence in  the  house,  of  my  position,  of  Mademoiselle  St.  Alais,  or 
how  he  meant  to  deal  with  me ;  and  at  the  door,  not  knowing 
what  was  in  his  mind,  I  touched  his  shoulder,  and  stopped  him. 

"  Pardon  me,"  I  said,  with  as  much  dignity  as  I  could  as- 
sume, "  but  I  should  like  to  know  what  you  are  going  to  do 
with  me,  monsieur.  I  need  not  tell  you  that  I  did  not  enter 
this  house  as  a  spy — " 

"  You  need  tell  me  nothing,"  he  answered,  cutting  me  short 
with  rudeness.  "And  as  for  what  I  am  going  to  do  with  you,  it 
can  be  told  in  half  a  dozen  words.  I  am  going  to  keep  you  by 
me,  that  if  the  worst  comes  of  this — in  which  event  I  am  not 
likely  to  see  the  week  out — you  may  protect  Mademoiselle  de 


342  THE    RED    COCKADE 

St.  Alais  and  convey  her  to  a  place  of  safety.  To  that  end  your 
commission  shall  be  restored  to  you  ;  I  have  it  safe.  If,  on  the 
other  hand,  we  hold  our  own,  and  light  the  fire  that  shall  burn 
up  these  cold-blooded  pedants  Id  has,  then,  M.  le  Vicomte — I 
shall  have  a  word  to  say  to  you.  And  \ve  will  talk  of  the  mat- 
ter as  gentlemen." 

For  a  moment  I  stood  dumb  with  astonishment.  We  were  at 
the  door  of  the  little  staircase  by  which  I  had  descended  when 
he  said  this ;  and  as  he  spoke  the  last  word  he  turned,  as  ex- 
pecting no  answer,  and  opened  it,  and  set  his  foot  on  the  lowest 
.•-tair,  casting  the  light  of  the  lantern  before  him.  I  plucked 
him  l>y  the  sleeve,  and  he  turned  and  faced  me. 

"  M.  Froment !"  I  muttered.  And  then,  for  the  life  of  me,  I 
could  say  no  more. 

"There  is  no  need  for  words,"  he  said,  grandly. 

••  Are  you  sure — that  you  know  all?"  I  muttered. 

"  I  am  sure  that  she  loves  you  and  that  she  does  not  love 
me,"  he  answered,  with  a  curling  lip  and  a  ring  of  scorn  in  his 
voice.  "  And  besides  that,  I  am  sure  of  one  thing  only." 

"  Yes  ?" 

"That  within  forty-eight  hours  blood  will  flow  in  every  street 
of  Nimcs,  and  Froment  the  bourgeois  will  be  Froment  le  Baron 
— or  nothing!  In  the  former  case,  we  will  talk.  In  the  latter," 
and  he  shrugged  his  shoulders  with  a  gesture  a  little  theatrical, 
"  it  will  not  matter." 

With  tlie  word  he  turned  to  the  stairs,  and  I  followed  him  up 
them  and  across  the  upper  corridor,  and  by  the  outer  stair 
wlit-re  I  had  evaded  my  guide-,  and  so  to  the  roof;  and  from  it 
by  a  short  wooden  ladder  to  the  leads  of  a  tower;  whence  we 
overlooked,  lying  below  us,  all  the  dim,  black  chaos  of  Ni 
hero  ri.sini;  in  giant  forms,  rather  felt  than  seen,  there  a  med- 
1'  v  of  hot  lights  and  deep  shadows,  thrown  into  relief  by  the 
glare  of  the  burning  church.  In  three  places  I  pieked  out  a 
cresset  shining  high  up  in  the  sky,  as  it  were:  one  on  the  rim 
of  the  An-iii-s,  another  on  the  roof  of  a  distant  church,  a  third 
on  a  tower  beyond  the  town.  But  for  the  most  part  the  town 
now  at  rest.  The  riot  had  died  down,  the  bells  were  silent, 
the  wind  blew  salt  from  the  sea  and  cooled  our  fa 


NOBLESSE    OBLIGE  343 

There  were  a  dozen  cloaked  figures  on  the  lends,  some  gazing 
down  in  silence,  others  walking  to  and  fro,  talking  together; 
but  in  the  darkness  it  was  impossible  to  recognize  any  one. 
Froment,  after  receiving  one  or  two  reports,  withdrew  to  the 
outer  side  of  the  tower  overlooking  the  country  and  walked 
there  alone,  his  head  bowed  and  his  hands  behind  him,  a  desire 
to  preserve  his  dignity  having  more  to  do  with  this,  or  I  was 
mistaken,  than  any  longing  for  solitude.  Still,  the  others  je- 
spected  his  wishes,  and  following  their  example,  I  seated  my- 
self in  an  embrasure  of  the  battlements,  whence  the  fire,  now 
growing  pale,  could  be  seen. 

NVhat  were  the  others'  thoughts  I  cannot  say.  A  muttered 
word  apprised  me  that  Louis  St.  Alais  was  in  command  at  the 
Arenes,  and  that  M.  le  Marquis  waited  only  until  success  was 
assured  to  start  for  Sommieres,  whence  the  commandant  had 
promised  a  regiment  of  horse  should  Froment  be  able  to  hold 
his  own  without  them.  The  arrangement  seemed  to  me  to  be 
of  the  strangest ;  but  the  Emigres,  fearful  of  compromising  the 
King,  and  warned  by  the  fate  of  Favras — who,  deserted  by  his 
party,  had  suffered  for  a  similar  conspiracy  a  few  months  be- 
fore— were  nothing  if  not  timid.  And  if  those  round  me  felt 
any  indignation  they  did  not  express  it. 

The  majority,  however,  were  silent,  or  spoke  only  when  some 
movement  in  the  town,  some  outcry  or  alarm,  drew  from  them  a 
few  eager  words ;  and  for  myself,  my  thoughts  were  neither  of 
the  struggle  below — where  both  parties  lay  watching  each  other 
and  waiting  for  the  day — nor  of  the  morrow,  nor  even  of  Denise, 
but  of  Froment  himself.  If  the  aim  of  the  man  had  been  to 
impress  me,  he  had  succeeded.  Seated  there  in  the  darkness,  I 
felt  his  influence  strong  upon  me  ;  I  felt  the  crisis  as  and  be- 
cause he  felt  it.  I  thrilled  with  the  excitement  of  the  gambler's 
last  stake,  because  he  had  thrown  the  dice.  I  stood  on  the  giddy 
point  on  which  he  stood,  and  looked  into  the  dark  future,  and 
trembled  for  and  with  him.  My  eyes  turned  from  others,  and 
involuntarily  sought  his  tall  figure  where  he  walked  alone;  with 
as  little  will  on  my  part  I  paid  him  the  homage  due  to  the  man 
who  stands  unmoved  on  the  brink,  master  of  his  soul,  though 
death  yawns  for  him. 


344  THE    RED    COCKADE 

About  midnight  there  was  a  general  movement  to  descend.  I 
had  eaten  nothing  for  twelve  hours,  and  I  had  done  much ;  and, 
notwithstanding  the  dubious  position  in  which  I  stood,  appetite 
bade  me  go  with  the  rest.  I  went,  therefore,  and,  following  the 
stream,  found  myself  a  minute  later  on  the  threshold  of  a  Ion.; 
room,  brilliantly  lit  with  lamps,  and  displaying  tables  laid  with 
covers  for  sixty  or  more.  I  fancied  that  at  the  farther  end  of 
the  apartment,  and  through  an  interval  in  the  crowd  of  men  be- 
fore me,  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  women,  of  jewels,  of  flashing  eyes, 
and  a  waving  fan;  and  if  anything  could  have  added  to  the  be- 
wildering abruptness  of  the  change  from  the  dark,  wind-swept 
leads  above-  to  the  gay  and  splendid  scene  before  me  it  was  this. 
But  I  had  scant  time  for  reflection.  Though  I  did  not  advance 
far,  the  press  which  separated  me  from  the  upper  end  of  the 
room  melted  quickly,  as  one  after  another  took  his  seat  amid  ;i 
hum  of  conversation  ;  and  in  a  moment  I  found  myself  gazing 
straight  at  Dcnise,  who,  white  and  wan,  with  a  pitiful  look  in 
In T  eyes,  sat  beside  her  mother  at  the  uppermost  table  a  picture 
of  silent  woe.  Madame  Catinot  and  two  or  three  gentlemen  and 
as  many  ladies  were  seated  with  them. 

"Whether  my  eyes  drew  hers  to  me,  or  she  glanced  that  way 
1>\  chance,  in  a  moment  she  looked  at  me,  and  rose  to  her  feet 
with  a  low,  gasping  cry  that  I  felt  rather  than  heard.  It 
enough  to  lead  Madame  St.  Alais's  eyes  to  me,  and  she  too  crii  <1 
out;  and  in  a  trice,  while  a  few  between  us  still  talked  uncon- 
scious, and  the  servants  glided  about,  I  found  all  at  that  farther 
table  starinir  -'it  me,  and  myself  the  focus  of  the  room.  .In^t 
then,  unluckily,  M.  St.  Alais,  rather  late,  came  in  ;  of  course 
h<-  too  saw  me.  I  heard  an  oath  behind  me,  but  I  was  intent  on 
the  farther  table  and  mademoiselle,  and  it  was  not  until  he  laid 
his  hand  on  my  arm  that  I  turned  sharply  and  saw  him. 

••  Mon.-ieiir,"  he  cried,  with  another  oath — and  I  saw  that  he 
almost  choking  \\ith  rage,  with  rage  and  surprise — "this  is 
to<»  much  !" 

1  looked  at  him  in  silence.  The  position  was  so  perplexing 
that  I  could  not  Lrrasp  it. 

••  How  do  I  find  you  here  .'"'  he  continued,  with  violence,  and 
in  a  voice  that  drew  every  eye  in  the  room  to  me.  He  was 


NOBLESSE    OBLIGE  345 

white  with  anger.  He  had  left  me  a  prisoner,  he  found  me  a 
guest. 

"  I  hardly  know  myself,"  I  answered.     "  But — " 

"  I  do,"  said  a  voice  behind  M.  St.  Alais.  "  If  you  wish  to 
know,  marquis,  M.  de  Saux  is  here  at  my  invitation." 

The  speaker  was  Froment,  who  had  just  entered  the  room. 
St.  Alais  turned  as  if  he  had  been  stabbed.  "  Then  I  am  not !" 
he  cried. 

"  That  is  as  you  please,"  Froment  said,  steadfastly. 

"It  is — and  I  do  not  please!"  the  marquis  retorted,  with 
a  scornful  glance,  and  in  a  tone  that  rang  through  the  room. 
"  I  do  not  please  !" 

As  I  heard  him,  and  felt  myself  the  centre,  under  the  lights, 
of  all  those  eyes,  I  could  have  fancied  that  I  was  again  in  the 
St.  Alais'  salon  listening  to  the  futile  oath  of  the  sword,  and 
that  three-quarters  of  a  year  had  not  elapsed  since  that  begin- 
ning of  all  our  troubles.  But  in  a  moment  Froment's  voice 
roused  me  from  the  dream. 

"  Very  well,"  he  said,  gravely.  "  But  I  think  that  you  for- 
get-" 

"  It  is  you  who  forget,"  St.  Alais  cried,  wildly.  "  Or  you  do 
not  understand — or  know — that  this  gentleman — " 

"  I  forget  nothing  !"  Froment  replied,  with  a  darkening  face. 
"  Nothing,  except  that  we  are  keeping  my  guests  waiting. 
Least  of  all  do  I  forget  the  aid,  monsieur,  which  you  have 
hitherto  rendered  me.  But,  M.  le  Marquis,"  he  continued,  with 
dignity,  "  it  is  mine  to  command  to-night,  and  it  is  for  me  to 
make  dispositions.  I  have  made  them,  and  I  must  ask  you  to 
comply  with  them..  I  know  that  you  will  not  fail  me  at  a 
pinch.  I  know,  and  these  gentlemen  know,  that  in  misfortune 
you  would  be  my  helper;  but  I  believe  also  that,  all  going  well, 
as  it  does,  you  will  not  throw  unnecessary  obstacles  in  my  way. 
<  'ome,  monsieur,  this  gentleman  will  not  refuse  to  sit  here.  And 
we  will  sit  at  madame's  table.  Oblige  me." 

M.  St.  Alais's  face  was  like  night,  but  the  other  was  a  man, 
and  his  tone  was  strenuous  as  well  as  courteous  ;  and  slowly 
and  haughtily  M.  le  Marquis,  who,  I  think,  had  never  before  in 
his  life  given  way,  followed  him  to  the  farther  end  of  the  room. 


THE  RED  COCKADE 

Left  alone,  I  sat  down  \\herr  I  was,  eved  curiously  l>v  tli"<e 
round  mo,  and  myself  finding  something  still  more  curious  in 
this  strange  l>an<juet  while  Ninics  watched,  this  midnight  mer- 
riment while  the  dead  still  lay  in  the  streets,  and  the  air  quiv- 
ered, and  all  the  world  of  night  hung,  listening  for  that  whi«-h 
was  to  come. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 
THE    CRISIS 

WHEN  the  gray  dawn,  to  which  so  many  looked  forward, 
broke  slowly  over  the  waking  city,  it  found  on  the  leads  of 
Froment's  tower  some  pale  faces,  perhaps  some  sinking  hearts. 
That  hour,  when  all  life  lacks  color,  and  all  things,  the  sky  ex- 
cepted,  are  black  to  the  eye,  tries  a  man's  courage  to  the  utter- 
most, as  the  cold  wind  that  blows  with  it  searches  his  body. 
Eyes  that  an  hour  before  had  sparkled  over  the  wine — for  we 
had  sat  late  and  drunk  to  the  King,  the  Church,  the  Red  Cock- 
ade, and  M.  d'Artois — grew  thoughtful ;  men  who  a  little  be- 
fore had  shown  flushed  faces  shivered  as  they  peered  into  the 
mist,  and  drew  their  cloaks  more  closely  round  them  ;  and  if 
the  man  was  there  who  regarded  the  issue  of  the  day  with 
perfect  indifference,  he  was  not  of  those  near  me. 

Froment  had  preached  faith,  but  the  faith  for  the  most  part 
was  down  in  the  street.  There,  I  have  no  doubt,  were  many 
who  believed,  and  were  ready  to  rush  on  death,  or  slay  without 
pity.  And  there  may  have  been  one  or  two  of  these  with  us. 
But  in  the  main,  the  men  who  looked  down  with  me  on  Nimes 
that  morning  were  hardy  adventurers,  or  local  followers  of 
Froment,  or  officers  whose  regiments  had  dismissed  them,  or — 
but  these  were  few — gentlemen,  like  St.  Alais.  All  brave  men, 
and  some  heated  with  wine ;  but  not  Froment  only  had  heard 
of  Favras  hung,  of  De  Launay  massacred,  of  Provost  Flesselles 
shot  in  cold  blood  !  Others  beside  him  could  make  a  guess  at 
the  kind  of  vengeance  this  strange  new  creature,  La  Nation, 
might  take,  being  outraged  ;  and  so,  when  the  long-expected 
dawn  appeared  at  last,  and  warmed  the  eastern  clouds,  and 
leaping  across  the  sea  of  mist  which  filled  the  Rhone  valley 


348  THE    RED    COCKAHK 

tinged  the  western  peaks  with  rosy  light,  .'UK!  found  us  watdi- 
in.i:,  I  saw  no  face  among  all  the  light  ft- 11  on  that  was  not 
serious,  not  one  but  had  some  haggard,  wan,  or  careworn  touch 
t<>  mark  it  mortal. 

Save  only  r'ruineiit's.  lie,  be  the  reason  what  it  might, 
showed  as  the  li^ht  rose  a  countenance  not  merely  resolute, 
but  cheerful.  Abandoning  the  solitary  habit  he  had  main- 
tained all  night,  he  came  forward  to  the  battlements  overlook- 
ing the  town,  and  talked  and  even  jested,  rallying  the  faint- 
hearted, and  taking  success  for  granted.  I  have  heard  his 
enemies  say  that  he  did  this  because  it  was  his  nature,  because 
he  could  not  help  it;  because  his  vanity  raised  him,  not  only 
above  the  ordinary  passions  of  men,  but  above  fear ;  because  in 
the  conceit  of  acting  his  part  to  the  admiration  of  all,  he  for- 
got that  it  was  more  than  a  part,  and  tried  all  fortunes  and  ran 
all  risks  with  as  little  emotion  as  the  actor  who  portrays  the 
Cid  or  takes  poison  in  the  part  of  Mithridatcs. 

But  this  seems  to  me  to  amount  to  no  more  than  saying  that 
he  was  not  only  a  very  vain  but  a  very  brave  man,  which  I  ad- 
mit. No  one,  indeed,  who  saw  him  that  morning  could  doubt 
it;  or  that  of  a  million  he  was  the  man  best  fitted  to  command 
in  such  an  emergency  ;  resolute,  undoubting,  even  gay,  he  re- 
vei-M-d  no  orders,  expressed  no  fears.  When  the  mist  rolled 
away — a  little  after  four — and  let  the  smiling  plain  !>«•  s.-m, 
and  the  city  and  the  hills,  and  when  from  the  direction  of  the 
Ilhoiie  the  first  harsh  jangle  of  bells  smote  the  ear  and  stilled 
the  lark's  song,  he  turned  to  his  following  with  an  air  almost 
joyous. 

"Come,  gentlemen,"  he  said,  gayly.  and  with  head  erect. 
"Let  us  be  stirring!  They  must  not  say  that  we  lie  close  and 
fear  to  show  our  heads  abroad;  <>r,  having  set  others  moving, 
are  backward  ourselves — like  the  tonguesters  and  dreamers  of 
their  knavish  Assembly,  who,  when  they  would  take  their  King, 
set  women  in  the  front,  rank  to  take  the  danger  also!  Allans, 
messieurs/  Thev  brought  him  from  Versailles  to  Paris.  \Yi- 
will  escort  him  back!  And  to-day  we  take  the  first  step!" 

Enthusiasm  is  of  all  things  the  most  contagious.  A  murmur 
of  assent  greeted  his  words;  eyes  that  a  moment  before  had 


THE    CRISIS  349 

l>eon  dull  enough,  grew  bright.  "  A  bus  les  Traitres  /"  cried 
one.  "  A  bas  le  Tricolor  /"  cried  another. 

Froment  raised  his  hand  for  silence.  "  No,  monsieur,"  he 
said,  quickly.  "  On  the  contrary,  we  will  have  a  tricolor  of  our 
own.  Vive  le  Roi !  Vive  la  Foil  Vive  la  Loi!  Vivent  les  Trois! 

The  conceit  took.  A  hundred  voices  shouted  "  Vivent  les 
Trots!"  in  chorus.  The  words  were  taken  up  on  lower  roofs 
and  at  windows  and  in  the  streets  below,  until  they  passed 
noisily  away,  after  the  manner  of  file-firing,  into  the  distance. 

Froment  raised  his  hat  gallantly.  "Thank  you,  gentlemen," 
he  said.  "  In  the  King's  name,  in  His  Majesty's  name,  I  thank 
you.  Before  we  have  done  the  Atlantic  shall  hear  that  cry, 
and  La  Manche  re-echo  it !  And  the  Rhone  shall  release  what 
the  Seine  has  taken  !  To  Nimes  and  to  you,  all  France  looks 
this  day.  For  freedom!  For  freedom  to  live  —  shall  knaves 
and  scriveners  strangle  her  ?  For  freedom  to  pray — they  rob 
God,  and  defile  llis  temples!  For  freedom  to  walk  abroad — 
the  King  of  France  is  a  captive.  Need  I  say  more  ?" 

"  No  !  No  !"  they  cried,  waving  hats  and  swords.  "  No  ! 
No !" 

"  Then  I  will  not,"  he  answered,  hardily.  "  I  will  use  no 
more  words !  But  I  will  show  that  here  at  least,  at  Nimes  at 
least,  God  and  the  King  are  honored,  and  their  servants  are 
free !  Give  me  your  escort,  gentlemen,  and  we  will  walk 
through  the  town  and  visit  the  King's  posts,  and  see  if  any 
here  dare  cry,  '  A  bas  le  RoiT  " 

They  answered  with  a  roar  of  assent  and  menace  that  shook 
the  very  tower ;  and  instantly  trooping  to  the  ladder,  began  to 
descend  by  it  to  the  roof  of  the  house,  and  so  to  the  staircase. 
Sitting  on  the  battlements  of  the  tower,  I  watched  them  pass  in 
a  long  stream  across  the  leads  below,  their  hilts  and  buckles 
glittering  in  the  sunshine,  their  ribbons  waving  in  the  breeze, 
their  voices  sharp  and  high.  I  thought  them,  as  I  watched,  a 
gallant  company ;  the  greater  part  were  young,  and  all  had  a 
fine  air ;  not  without  sympathy  I  saw  them  vanish  one  by  one 
in  the  head  of  the  staircase,  by  which  I  had  ascended.  One- 
half  had  disappeared  when  I  felt  a  touch  on  my  arm,  and  found 
Froment,  the  last  to  leave,  standing  by  my  side. 


350  THE    KEU    COCKADE 

"You  will  stay  here,  monsieur,"  he  said,  in  an  undertone  of 
meaning,  liis  eyes  lowered  to  meet  mine;  "  if  the  worst  happens, 
I  need  not  charge  you  to  look  to  mademoiselle.11 

••  Worst  or  best,  I  will  look  to  her,"  I  answered. 

"Thanks,"  he  said,  his  lip  curling,  ami  an  ugly  light  for  an 
instant  flashing  in  his  eyes.  "But  in  the  latter  case  I  will 
look  to  her  myself.  Don't  forget  that,  if  I  win,  we  have  still 
to  talk,  monsieur !" 

"  Vet,  God  grant  you  may  win  !"  I  exclaimed,  involuntarily. 

"You  have  faith  in  your  swordsmanship  ?"  he  answered,  with 
a  slight  sneer;  and  then,  in  a  different  tone,  he  went  <>n  : 
"  No,  monsieur,  it  is  not  that.  It  is  that  you  are  a  French  gen- 
tleman. And  as  such  I  leave  mademoiselle  to  your  care  with- 
out a  qualm.  God  keep  you  !" 

"  And  you,"  I  said.     And  I  saw  him  go  after  the  others. 

It  was  then  about  five  o'clock.  The  sun  was  up.  ami  tin- 
tower  roof,  left  silent  and  in  my  sole  possession,  seemed  so  near 
the  sky,  seemed  so  bright  and  peaceful  and  still,  with  the  still- 
ness of  the  early  morning  which  is  akin  to  innocence,  that  1 
looked  about  me  dazed.  I  stood  on  a  different  plane  from  that 
of  the  world  below,  whence  the  roar  of  greeting  that  hailed 
Froment's  appearance  came  op  harshly.  Another  shout  fol- 
lowed and  another,  that  drove  the  affrighted  pigeons  in  a  cir- 
cling cloud  high  above  the  roofs;  and  then  the  \\ave  of  sound 
began  to  roll  away,  moving  with  an  indescribable  note  of  men- 
ace southward  through  the  city.  Ami  I  remained  alone  on  m\ 
tower,  raised  high  above  the  strife. 

Al"iie,  with  time  to  think;  and  to  think  some  grim  thoughts. 
Where  now  was  the  sweet  union  of  which  half  the  nation  had 
1>« -i •!!  dreaming  for  weeks:1  Where  the  millennium  of  peace 
and  fraternity  to  which  Father  Hcnoit  and  the  Syndics  of 
Giron  and  Ylais  had  looked  forward  .'  Ami  the  abolition  of 
divisions?  And  the  rights  of  man.'  And  the  other  ten  thou- 
sand blessings  that  philosophers  and  theorists  had  undertaken 
to  create — the  nature  of  man  notwithstanding — their  systems 
once  adopted?  Aye,  where?  From  all  the  smiling  country 
round  came,  for  answer,  the  clanging  of  importunate  bells. 
From  the  streets  below  rose,  for  answer,  the  sounds  of  riot  and 


THE    CRISIS  351 

triumph.  Along  this  or  that  road,  winding  ribbon-like  across 
the  plain,  hurried  little  flocks  of  men — now  seen  for  the  first 
time — with  glittering  arms;  and  last  and  worst — when  some 
half-hour  had  elapsed,  and  I  still  watched — from  a  distant  sub- 
urb westward  boomed  out  a  sudden  volley,  and  then  dropping 
shots.  The  pigeons  still  wheeled  in  a  shining,  shifting  cloud 
above  the  roofs,  and  the  sparrows  twittered  round  me,  and  on 
the  tower,  and  on  the  roof  below,  where  a  few  domestics  clus- 
tered, all  was  sunshine  and  quiet  and  peace.  But  down  in  the 
streets,  there,  I  knew  that  death  was  at  work. 

Still,  for  a  time,  I  felt  little  excitement.  It  was  early  in  the 
day ;  I  expected  no  immediate  issue ;  and  I  listened  almost 
carelessly,  following  the  train  of  thought  I  have  traced,  and 
gloomily  comparing  this  scene  of  strife  with  the  brilliant  prom- 
ises of  a  few  months  before.  But  little  by  little  the  anxiety  of 
the  servants  who  stood  on  the  roof  below  infected  me.  I  be- 
gan to  listen  more  acutely,  and  to  fancy  that  the  tide  of  con- 
flict was  rolling  nearer,  that  the  cries  and  shots  came  more 
quickly  and  sharply  to  the  ear.  At  last,  in  a  place  near  the 
barracks,  and  not  far  off,  I  distinguished  little  puffs  of  thin 
white  smoke  rising  above  the  roofs,  and  twice  a  rattling  volley 
in  the  same  quarter  shook  the  windows.  Then  in  one  of  the. 
streets  immediately  below  me,  the  whole  length  of  which  was 
visible,  I  saw  people  running — running  towards  me. 

I  called  to  the  servants  to  know  what  it  was. 

"They  are  attacking  the  arsenal,  monsieur,"  one  answered, 
shading  his  eyes. 

"Who?"  I  said. 

But  he  only  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  looked  out  more  in- 
tently. I  followed  his  example,  but  for  a  time  nothing  hap- 
pened ;  then  on  a  sudden,  as  if  a  door  were  opened  that 
hitherto  had  shut  off  the  noise,  a  babel  of  shouts  burst  out,  and 
a  great  crowd  entered  the  nearer  end  of  the  street  below  me, 
and  pouring  along  it  with  loud  cries  and  brandished  arms — 
and  a  crucifix  and  a  little  body  of  monks  in  the  middle — 
swirled  away  round  the  farthest  corner,  and  were  gone.  For 
some  time,  however,  I  could  still  hear  the  burden  of  their  cries, 
and  trace  it  towards  the  barracks,  whence  the  crackle  of  mus- 


352  THE    RED    COCKAHK 

ketry  came  at  intervals ;  and  I  concluded  that  it  was  a  rein- 
forcement, and  that  Froment  had  sent  for  it.  After  that, 
chancing  to  look  down,  I  saw  that  half  the  servants,  below  im •, 
had  vanished,  and  that  figures  were  beginning  to  skulk  about 
the  streets  hitherto  deserted ;  and  I  began  to  tremble.  The 
crisis  had  come  sooner  than  I  had  thought. 

I  called  to  one  of  the  men  and  asked  him  where  the  ladies 
were. 

He  looked  up  at  me  with  a  pale  face.  "  I  don't  know,  mon- 
sieur," he  answered,  rapidly  ;  and  he  looked  away  again. 

"  They  are  below  ?" 

But  he  was  watching  too  intently  to  answer,  and  only  shook 
his  head  impatiently.  I  was  unwilling  to  leave  my  place  on  the 
roof,  and  I  called  to  him  to  take  my  compliments  to  Madame 
St.  Alais  and  ask  her  to  ascend.  It  seemed  strange  that  she  had 
not  done  so,  for  women  are  not  generally  lacking  in  the  desire 
to  see. 

But  the  man  was  too  frightened  to  think  of  any  one  but  him- 
self— I  fancy  he  was  one  of  the  cooks — and  he  did  not  move, 
while  his  companions  only  cried,  "  Presently,  presently,  mon- 
sieur '." 

At  that,  however,  I  lost  my  temper;  and  going  to  the  ladder, 
I  ran  down  it  and  strode  towards  them.  "  You  rascals !"  I  cried. 
"  Where  are  the  ladies?" 

One  or  two  turned  to  me  with  a  start.    "  Pardon,  monsieur  !" 

"  Where  are  the  ladies?"  I  repeated,  impatiently. 

-Ah!  I  did  not  understand,"  the  nearest  answered,  glibly. 
"Gone  to  the  church  to  pray,  monsieur." 

"To  the  church?" 

••  To  be  sure.     By  the  Capuchins." 

••  An<l  thi-v  arc  not  here?" 

"No,  monsieur,"  he  answered,  his  eyes  straying.  "But — 
what  is  that?" 

Ami,  diviTtcd  by  something,  he  skipped  nimbly  from  me-,  his 
cheek  a  shail<-  pal.-r.  I  foll,,\\.  ,1  him  t<>  the  parapet  and  looked 
over.  The  view  was  not  so  wide  as  from  the  tower  above,  but 
the  main  street  leading  southward  could  be  seen,  and  it  was  full 
of  people — of  scattered  groups  and  handfuls,  all  coming  tow- 


THE    CRISIS  353 

ards  us,  some  running  at  an  easy  pace,  while  others  walked 
quickly,  four  or  five  abreast,  and  often  looked  behind  them. 

The  servants  never  doubted  what  it  meant.  In  a  trice  the 
group  broke  up.  With  a  muttered  "  We  are  beaten  !"  they  ran 
pell-mell  across  the  sunny  leads  to  the  head  of  the  staircase  and 
began  to  descend.  I  waited  awhile,  looking  and  fearing ;  but 
the  stream  of  fugitives  ever  continued  and  increased ;  the  pace 
grew  quicker ;  the  last-comers  looked  more  frequently  behind 
them  and  handled  their  arms ;  the  din  of  conflict,  of  yells  and 
cries  and  shots  seemed  to  be  approaching ;  and  in  a  moment  I 
made  up  my  mind  to  act.  The  staircase  was  clear  now ;  I  ran 
quickly  down  it  as  far  as  the  door  on  the  upper  floor,  by  which 
I  had  entered  the  house  the  evening  before.  I  tried  this,  but 
recoiled  ;  the  door  was  locked.  With  a  cry  of  vexation,  my 
haste  growing  feverish — for  now,  in  the  darkness  of  the  stair- 
case, I  was  in  ignorance  of  what  was  happening,  and  pictured 
the  worst  —  I  went  on,  descending  round  and  round,  until  I 
reached  the  cloister-like  hall  at  the  bottom. 

I  found  this  choked  with  men,  armed,  grim-faced,  and  furious, 
and  beset  by  other  men,  who  still  continued  to  pour  in  from  the 
street.  A  moment  later  and  I  should  have  found  the  staircase 
stopped  by  the  stream  of  people  ascending,  and  I  must  have 
remained  on  the  roof.  As  it  was,  I  could  not  for  a  minute  or 
two  force  myself  through  the  press,  but  was  thrust  against  a 
wall  and  pinned  there  by  the  rush  inward.  Next  me,  however, 
I  found  one  of  the  servants  in  like  case,  and  I  seized  him  by 
the  sleeve.  "  Where  are  the  ladies  ?"  I  said.  "  Have  they  re- 
turned ?  Are  they  here  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  said,  his  eyes  roving. 

"  Are  they  still  at  the  church  ?" 

"  Monsieur,  I  don't  know,"  he  answered,  impatiently  ;  and 
then  seeing,  I  think,  the  man  for  whom  he  was  searching,  he 
shook  me  off  with  the  churlishness  of  fear,  and,  flinging  him- 
self into  the  crowd,  was  gone. 

All  the  place  was  such  a  hurly-burly  of  men  entering  and 
leaving,  shouting  orders,  or  forcing  themselves  through  the 
press,  that  I  doubted  what  to  do.  Some  were  crying  for  Fro- 
ment,  others  to  close  the  doors ;  one  that  all  was  lost,  another 


354  THE    RED    COCKADE 

to  bring  up  the  powder.  The  disorder  was  enough  to  turn  the 
brain,  and  for  a  minute  I  stood  in  the  heart  of  it,  elbowed  and 
pushed,  and  tossed  this  way  and  that.  Where  were  the  wom- 
(.•n  '  Where  were  the  women?  The  doubt  distracted  me.  I 
seized  half  a  dozen  of  the  nearest  men  and  asked  them  ;  but 
they  only  cried  out  fiercely  that  they  did  not  know — how  should 
they  ? — and  shook  me  off  savagely  and  escaped,  as  the  servant 
had;  for  all  here,  with  a  few  exceptions,  were  of  the  common- 
er sort.  I  could  see  nothing  of  Froment,  nothing  of  St.  Alais 
or  the  leaders,  and  only  one  or  two  of  the  gallants  who  had 
gone  with  them. 

I  do  not  think  that  I  was  ever  in  a  more  trying  position. 
Iteiiise  might  be  still  at  the  church  and  in  peril  there;  or  she 
nii^lit  be  in  the  streets  exposed  to  dangers  on  which  1  dared 
not  dwell ;  or  she  might  be  safe  in  the  next  room,  or  up-stairs, 
or  on  the  roof.  In  the  unutterable  confusion  it  was  impossible 
to  know  or  learn,  or  even  move  quickly  ;  my  only  hope  seemed 
to  be  in  Froment's  return;  but  after  waiting  a  minute,  which 
seemed  a  lifetime,  in  the  hope  of  seeing  him,  I  lost  patience 
and  battled  my  wav  through  the  press  to  a  door  which  appeared 
to  lead  to  the  main  part  of  the  house. 

Passing  through  it,  I  found  the  same  disorder  ruling;  here 
men,  bringing  up  powder  from  the  cellars,  bloeked  the  passage; 
there  others  appeared  to  be  rifling  the  house.  I  had  little  h->pe 
of  finding  those  whom  I  sought  below  stairs;  and  after  glancing 
this  way  and  that  without  result,  I  lighted  on  a  staircase,  and  as- 
cending quickly  to  the  second  floor,  hastened  to  Denise's  room. 
The  door  was  locked. 

I  hammered  on  it  madly,  and  called  and  waited  and  listened, 
and  called  again,  but  I  heard  no  sound  from  within;  conviii<vd 
at  last,  I  left  it  and  tried  the  nearest  doors.     The  first  two  , 
locked  also  and  the  rooms  as  silent;  the  third  and  fourth  \ 
open  and  empty.      The  last  I  enter. <1  was  a  man's. 

The  task  was  no  long  one,  and  <>, •< Mipied  less  than  a  minute. 
But  all  the  tijne,  while  I  rapped  and  listened  and  called,  though 
the,  corridor  in  which  I  moved  was  quiet  as  death  and  echoed 
my  footsteps,  the  house  below  rang  with  cries  and  shouts  and 
hurrying  feet,  and  I  was  in  a  fever.  Madame  might  be  on  the 


"MEN  BRINGING  UP  POWDER  FROM  THE  CELLARS  BLOCKED  THE  PASSAGE" 


THE    CRISIS  357 

roof.  I  turned  that  way,  meaning  to  ascend.  Then  I  reflected 
that  if  I  climbed  to  it  I  might  find  the  staircase  blocked  when  I 
came  to  descend  again;  and  cursing  my  folly  for  leaving  the 
hall — simply  because  my  quest  had  failed — I  hurried  back  to  the 
stairs  and  dashed  recklessly  down  them,  and,  stemming  as  well 
as  I  could  the  tide  of  people  that  surged  and  ebbed  about  the 
lower  floor,  I  fought  my  way  back  to  the  hall. 

I  was  just  in  time.  As  I  entered  by  one  door  Froment  en- 
tered by  the  other  with  a  little  band  of  his  braves,  of  whom  sev- 
eral, I  now  observed,  wore  green  ribbons  —  the  Artois  colors. 
His  great  stature  raising  him  above  the  crowd  of  heads,  I  saw 
that  he  was  wounded ;  a  little  blood  was  running  down  his 
cheek,  and  his  eyes  shone  with  the  brilliance  almost  of  mad- 
ness. But  he  was  still  cool ;  he  had  still  so  much  the  command 
not  only  of  himself  but  of  those  round  him  that  the  commo- 
tion grew  still  and  abated  under  his  eye.  In  a  moment,  men 
who  before  had  only  tumbled  over  and  embarrassed  one  another 
flew  to  their  places ;  and  though  the  howling  of  a  hostile  mob 
could  plainly  be  heard  at  the  end  of  the  street,  and  it  was  clear 
that  he  had  fallen  back  before  an  overwhelming  force,  resolu- 
tion seemed  in  a  moment  to  take  the  place  of  panic,  and  hope 
of  despair. 

Standing  on  the  threshold,  and  pointing  this  way  and  that 
with  a  discharged  pistol  which  he  held  in  his  hand,  he  gave  a 
few  short,  sharp  orders  for  the  barricading  of  the  door,  and  saw 
them  carried  out,  and  sent  this  man  to  one  post  and  that  man 
to  another.  Then  the  crowd  which  had  before  cumbered  the 
place  melting  as  if  by  magic,  he  saw  me  forcing  my  way  to  him, 
and  he  beckoned  to  me. 

If  he  played  a  part,  then  let  me  say,  once  for  all,  he  played 
it  nobly.  Even  now,  when  I  guessed  that  all  was  lost,  I  read 
no  fear  and  no  envy  in  his  face,  and  in  what  he  said  there  was 
no  ostentation. 

"Get  out  quickly,"  he  muttered  in  an  undertone,  forestalling 
by  a  hasty  gesture  the  excited  questions  I  had  on  my  lips ; 
"  through  yonder  door  and  by  the  little  postern  at  the  foot  of 
the  other  staircase.  Go  by  the  east  gate  and  you  will  find 
horses  at  the  St.  Genevieve,  outside.  It  is  all  over  here  !"  he 

18 


358  TI1K     KKU     CdC'KADK 

added,  wringing  my  hand  hard  and  pushing  mo    towards   the 
door. 

"  IJut  mademoiselle?"  I  cried;  and  I  told  him  that  she  was 
not  in  the  house. 

••  What  f  lie  said,  pausing  and  looking  at  me,  with  his  face 
grown  suddenly  dark.  "Are  you  mad?  Do  you  mean  that 
she  has  gone  out?" 

"She  is  not  here,"  I  answered.  "I  am  told  that  she  went 
to  the  church  with  Madame  St.  Alais,  and  has  not  returned." 

"That  l>eldam  !"  he  exclaimed,  with  a  terrible  oath;  and  then, 
"God  help  them!"  he  said,  twice.  And  then,  after  a  moment  of 
silence,  meeting  my  eyes  and  reading  the  horror  in  them,  ho 
laughed  harshly.  "  After  all,  what  matter  f  he  said,  recklessly. 
"  We  shall  all  go  together!  Let  us  go  like  gentlemen.  I  did 
what  I  could.  Do  you  hear  that  f 

lie  held  up  his  hand  as  a  roar  of  musketry  shook  the  hoiiso, 
and  lie  gave  an  order.  The  small  windows  had  been  stopped 
with  paving  stones,  the  door  made  solid  with  the  wall  behind  it  ; 
and  daylight  being  shut  out,  lamps  had  been  lighted,  which  g 
the  long,  whitewashed,  stone-groined  room  a  strange,  sombre 
look  ;  or  it  was  the  grim  faces  I  saw  round  me  had  that  effect. 

"  I  am  afraid  that  the  St.  Alaises  are  cut  oil  in  the  Arenes,"  he 
saiil, coolly.    "And  they  are  not  enough  to  man  the  walls.    Ti 
cursed  <  V\rniiols  have  been  too  many  for  us.     As  for  our  friends 
— it  is  as  I  expected ;  they  have  left  me  to  die  like  a  bull  in  the 
ring.      Well,  \\e  must  die  goring." 

Hut  in  the  midst  of  my  admiration  of  his  courage  a  kind  of 
revulsion  sei/cd  me.  "And  I>cnisc.'"  I  said,  grasping  his  arm, 
fiercclv.  "  Arc  \\e  to  Ica\e  her  to  perish  .'" 

He  looked  at  me,  his  lip  curling.  "  True,"  he  said,  with  a 
sneering  smile.  "  I  forgot.  You  are  not  of  us." 

••I  ant  thinking  of  her!"  1  cried,  raging.  And  in  that  mo- 
ment I  hated  him. 

Jiut   his   mood   changed  while  lie   looked   at    me.      '•  You   are 
right,  monsieur,"  he  said,  in  ft  different  tone.    Mlo!    There  may 
be   a  chance;   but  the  church    is   by   the   ('apnchins,  and    t! 
do._rs  \\ere  having  round  it  when  we  fell  back.      They  are  ten  to 
,,n».\  ,,r —     Still  there  may  be  a  chance,"  he  continued,  with  de- 


STANDING   ON   THE   THRESHOLD,  HE  GAVE  A  FEW   SHARP   ORDERS   FOR  THK 
BARRICADING  OF  THE  DOOR" 


THE    CRISIS  361 

cision.  "Go,  and  if  you  find  her,  and  escape,  do  not  forget 
Froment  of  Nimes." 

"  By  the  postern  ?"  I  said. 

"Yes — take-this,"  he  answered;  and  abruptly  drawing  a  pis- 
tol from  his  pocket,  he  forced  it  on  me.  "  Go,  and  I  must  go, 
too.  Good-fortune,  monsieur,  and  farewell.  And  you,  bark 
away,  you  dogs !"  he  continued,  bitterly,  addressing  the  uncon- 
scious mob.  "  The  bull  is  on  foot  yet,  and  will  toss  some  of 
you  before  the  ring  closes  !" 


CHAPTER  XXIV 
THE      MILLENNIUM 

WITH  that  word  he  thrust  me  towards  the  door  that  led  to 
the  inner  hall  and  the  postern  ;  and  knowing  as  I  did  that  every 
moment  I  delayed  might  stand  for  a  life,  and  that  within  a  min- 
ute or  two  at  most  the  rear  of  the  building  would  be  beset  and 
my  eliancc  of  egress  lost,  it  was  to  be  expected  that  I  should  not 
hesitate. 

Yet  I  did.  The  main  body  of  Froment's  followers  had  flocked 
up-stairs,  whence  they  could  be  heard  firing  from  the  roof  and 
windows.  He  stood  almost  alone  in  the  middle  of  the  floor, 
in  the  attitude  of  "one  listening  and  thinking,  while  a  group  of 
<  Jiven  Ribbons,  who  seemed  to  be  the  most  determined  of  his  fol- 
lowers, hung  growling  about  the  barricaded  door.  Something  in 
the  gloomy  brightness  of  the  room  and  the  disorder  of  the  har- 
ricadi-d  windows, something  in  the  loneliness  of  his  figure  as  he 
stood  there,  appealed  to  me  ;  I  even  took  one  step  towards  him. 
But  at  that  moment  he  looked  up,  his  face  grown  dark,  and  he 
wax  e<l  Mir  off  with  a  gesture  almost  of  rage.  I  knew  then  that 
I  hail  tuit  a  small  part  of  his  thoughts,  and  thai  at  this  moment, 
while,  the  editii-e  lie  had  built  up  with  so  min-li  care  and  si>  miieli 
risk  was  crumbling  about  him,  he  was  thinking  not  of  us,  but  of 
those  who  had  promised  and  failed  him;  who  had  given  good 
words  and  left  him  to  perish.  And  I  went. 

Vet  even  for  that  moment  of  delay  it  seemed  that  I  might 
pay  too  dearly.  A  dozen  steps  brought  me  to  the  low-browed 
door  he  had  indicated  in  the  thickness  of  the  wall,  at  the  foot 
of  the  main  staircase.  Hut  already  a  man  was  adjusting  the 
last  liar.  I  cried  to  him  to  open.  "Open  !  I  must  go  out !"  I 
cried. 


THE    MILLENNIUM  363 

"  Dieu  !     It  is  too  late  !"  be  said,  with  a  dark  glance  at  me. 

My  heart  sank  ;  I  feared  he  was  right.  Still,  he  began  to  un- 
bar, though  grudgingly,  and  in  half  a  minute  we  had  the  door 
loose.  With  a  pistol  in  his  hand,  he  opened  it  on  the  chain  and 
looked  out.  It  opened  on  a  narrow  passage — which,  God  be 
thanked,  was  still  empty.  He  dropped  the  chain  and  almost 
thrust  me  out ;  cried,  "  To  the  left !"  and  then,  as,  dazzled  by  the 
sunlight,  I  turned  that  way,  I  heard  the  door  slam  behind  me 
and  the  chain  rattle  as  it  was  linked  again. 

The  houses  that  rose  on  each  side  somewhat  deadened  the 
noise  of  the  mob  and  the  firing  ;  but  as  I  hurried  down  the  al- 
ley, bareheaded,  and  with  the  pistol  which  Froment  had  given 
me  firmly  clutched  in  my  hand,  I  heard  a  fresh  spirt  of  noise 
behind  me,  and  knew  that  the  assailants  had  entered  the  passage 
by  the  farther  end,  and  that  had  I  waited  a  moment  longer  I 
should  have  been  too  late. 

As  it  was,  my  position  was  sufficiently  forlorn,  if  it  was  not 
hopeless.  Alone  and  a  stranger,  without  hat  or  badge,  knowing 
little  of  the  streets,  I  might  blunder  at  any  corner  into  the  arms 
of  one  of  the  parties  and  be  massacred.  I  had  a  notion  that  the 
church  of  the  Capuchins  was  that  which  I  had  visited  near 
Madame  Catinot's,  and  my  first  thought  was  to  gain  the  main 
street  leading  in  that  direction.  This  was  not  so  easy,  however  ; 
the  alley  in  which  I  found  myself  led  only  into  a  second  passage 
equally  strait  and  gloomy.  Entering  this,  I  turned  after  a  mo- 
ment's hesitation  to  the  left,  but  before  I  had  gone  a  dozen 
paces  I  heard  shouting  in  front  of  me,  and  I  halted  and  retraced 
my  steps.  Hurrying  in  the  other  direction,  I  found  myself  in  a 
minute  in  a  little,  gloomy,  well-like  court,  with  no  second  outlet 
that  I  could  see,  where  I  stood  a  moment  panting  and  at  a  loss, 
rendered  frantic  and  almost  desperate  by  the  thought  that  while 
1  hovered  there  uncertain  the  die  might  be  cast,  and  those  whom 
I  sought  perish  for  lack  of  my  aid. 

I  was  about  to  return,  resolved  to  face  at  all  risks  the  party  of 
rioters  whom  I  heard  behind  me,  when  an  open  window  in  the 
lowest  floor  of  one  of  the  houses  that  stood  round  the  court 
caught  my  eye.  It  was  not  far  from  the  ground,  and  to  see  was 
to  determine  ;  the  house  must  have  an  outlet  on  the  street.  In 


304  THE    RED    COCKADE 

a  dozen  strides  I  crossed  the  court,  and,  resting  one  hand  on  the 
sill  of  the  window,  vaulted  into  the  room,  alighted  sideways  on 
a  stool,  and  fell  heavily  to  the  floor. 

I  was  up  in  a  moment,  unhurt,  but  with  a  woman's  scream 
ringing  in  my  ears,  and  a  woman,  a  girl,  cowering  from  me, 
white-faced,  her  back  to  the  door.  She  had  been  kneeling,  prav- 
ing  probably,  by  the  bed,  and  I  had  almost  fallen  on  her.  When 
I  looked  she  screamed  again  ;  I  called  to  her  in  Heaven's  name 
to  be  silent. 

"The  door!  Only  the  door!"  I  cried.  "Show  it  me.  I  will 
hurt  no  one." 

••  Who  are  you  .'"  she  muttered.  And  still  shrinking  from  me, 
she  stared  at  me  with  distended  eyes. 

"  Mon  Dieu!  what  does  it  matter?"  I  answered,  tiercel  v. 
"The  door,  woman  !  The  door  into  the  street  '." 

I  advanced  upon  her,  and  the  same  fear  which  had  paralvzcd 
her  gave  her  sense  again.  She  opened  the  door  beside  her,  and 
pointed  dumbly  down  a  passage.  I  hurried  through  the  pas- 
rejoicing  at  my  success;  but  before  I  could  unbar  the  door  that 
I  found  facing  me  a  second  woman  came  out  of  a  room  at  the 
side  and  saw  me,  and  threw  up  her  hands  with  a  crv  of  terror. 

"  Which  is  the  way  to  the  church  of  the  Capuchins?"  I  said. 

She  clapped  one  hand  to  her  side,  but  she  answered.  "To 
the  left!"  she  gasped.  "And  then  to  the  right!  Arc  they 
coming  ?" 

I  did  not  stay  to  ask  whom  she  meant,  but,  getting  the  door 
open  at  last,  I  sprang  through  the  doorway.  <  >ne  look  up  and 
down  the  street,  however,  and  I  was  in  again,  ami  the  door 
-•  d  behind  me.  Mv  eyes  met  the  woman's,  and  without  a 
word  she  snatched  up  the  bar  I  had  dropped  ami  set  it  in  the 
sockets.  Then  she  turned  and  ran  up  the  stairs,  and  I  followed 
her,  the  ifirl  into  whose  room  I  had  leaped,  and  whose  scared 
face  showed  for  a  second  at  the  end  of  the  passage,  disappear- 
ing like  a  rabbit  as  we  passed  her. 

I  followed  the  woman  to  the  window  of  an   upper  room,  and 

'.  >ok«'d  out,  standing  back  and  peering  fearfully  over  the  sill. 

No  need  no\v  to  ask  why  I  had   returned  so  quickly.     The  roar 

of  many  voices  seemed  in  a  moment  to  till  all  the  street,  while 


THE    MILLENNIUM  365 

the  casement  shook  with  the  tread  of  thousands  and  thousands 
of  advancing  feet,  as,  rank  after  rank,  stretching  from  wall  to 
wall,  the  mob,  or  one  section  of  it,  swept  by,  the  foremost  march- 
ing in  order,  shoulder  to  shoulder,  armed  with  muskets  and  in 
some  kind  of  uniform,  the  rearmost  a  savage  rabble  with  naked 
arms  and  pikes  and  axes,  who  looked  up  at  the  windows  and 
shook  their  fists  and  danced  and  leaped  as  they  went  by,  with  a 
great  shout  of  "  Aux  Arenes !  Aux  Arenes  !" 

In  themselves  they  were  a  sight  to  make  a  quiet  man's  blood 
run  chill ;  but  they  had  that  in  their  midst,  seeing  which  the 
woman  beside  me  clutched  my  arm  and  screamed  aloud.  On 
six  long  pikes,  raised  high  above  the  mob,  moved  six  severed 
heads — one,  the  foremost,  bald  and  large,  and  hideously  leering. 
They  lifted  these  to  the  windows,  and  shook  their  gory  locks  in 
sport ;  and  so  went  by,  and  in  a  moment  the  street  was  quiet 
again. 

The  woman,  trembling  in  a  chair,  muttered  that  they  had  sacked 
La  Vierge,  the  red  cabaret,  and  the  bald  head  was  a  town-coun- 
cillor's, her  neighbor's.  But  I  did  not  stay  to  listen.  I  left  her 
where  she  was,  and,  hurrying  down  again,  unbarred  the  door  and 
went  out.  All  was  strangely  quiet  again.  The  morning  sun  shone 
bright  and  warm  on  the  long,  empty  street,  and  seemed  to  give 
the  lie  to  the  thing  I  had  seen.  Not  a  living  creature  was  visi- 
ble this  way  or  that;  not  a  face  at  a  window.  I  stood  a  mo- 
ment iu  the  middle  of  the  road,  disconcerted,  puzzled  by  the 
bright  stillness,  and  uncertain  which  way  I  had  been  going.  At 
last  I  remembered  the  woman's  directions,  and  set  off  on  the 
heels  of  the  mob  until  I  reached  the  first  turning  on  the  right. 
I  took  this,  and  had  not  gone  a  hundred  yards  before  I  recog- 
nized, a  little  in  front  of  me,  Madame  Oatinot's  house. 

It  showed  to  the  sunshine  a  wide  blind  front,  long  rows  of 
shuttered  windows,  and  not  a  sign  of  life.  Nevertheless,  here 
was  something  I  knew,  something  which  bore  a  semblance  of 
familiarity,  and  I  hailed  it  with  hope  ;  and,  flinging  myself  on 
the  door,  knocked  long  and  recklessly.  The  noise  seemed  fit 
to  wake  the  dead ;  it  boomed  and  echoed  in  every  doorway  of 
the  empty  street  that  on  the  evening  of  my  arrival  had  teemed 
with  traffic;  I  shivered  at  the  sound — I  shivered,  standing  con- 


TIIK   KED   c-orKAiu-: 


spicuous  on  the  steps  of  the  house,  expecting  a  score  of  windows 
to  be  opened  and  heads  thrust  out. 

I  Jut  1  had  not  yet  learned  how  the  extremity  of  panic  be- 
numbs, or  how  strong  is  the  cowardly  instinct  that  binds  the 
peaceful  man  to  his  hearth  when  blood  llows  in  the  streets.  Not 
a  face  showed  at  a  casement,  not  a  door  opened  ;  worse,  though 
I  knocked  again  and  again,  the  house  I  would  awaken  remained 
dead  and  silent.  I  stood  back  and  gazed  at  it,  and  returned  and 
hammered  again,  thinking  this  time  nothing  of  myself. 

But  without  result.  Or  not  quite.  Far  away,  at  Hie  end  of 
the  street,  the  echo  of  my  knocking  dwelt  a  little,  then  grew  into 
a  fuller,  deeper  sound  —  a  sound  I  knew.  The  mob  was  returning. 

I  cursed  my  folly  then  for  lingering;  thought  of  the  p.-. 
in  the  rear  of  the  house  that  led  to  the  church,  found  the  en- 
trance to  it,  and  in  a  moment  was  speeding  through  it.  The 
distant  roar  grew  nearer  and  louder;  but  now  I  could  see  the  low 
door  of  the  church,  and  I  slackened  my  pace  a  little.  As  I  did 
so  the  door  before  me  opened,  and  a  man  looked  out.  I  saw  his 
face  before  he  saw  me,  and  read  it;  saw  terror,  shame,  and  rage 
written  on  its  mean  features;  and  in  some  strange  way  I  knew 
what  he  was  going  to  do  before  he  did  it.  A  moment  he  glared 
abroad,  blinking  and  shading  his  eyes  in  the  sunshine,  then  he 
spied  me,  slid  out,  and,  with  an  indescribable  Judas  look  at  me, 
lied  away. 

He  left  the  door  ajar  —  I  knew  him  in  s-ime  way  for  the  door- 
keeper deserting  his  post  —  and  in  a  moment  I  \\as  in  the  cluiivh, 
and  face  to  face  with  a  sight  I  shall  remember  while  I  live;  for 
that  which  was  passing  outside,  that  which  I  had  seen  during 
the  last  few  minutes,  gave  it  a  solemnity  exceeding  even  that  of 
the  strange  service  I  had  witnessed  there  before. 

The  sun  shut  out,  a  few  red  altar  lamps  shed  a  sombre  light 
on  the  pillars  and  the  dim  pictures  and  the  vanishing  spaces; 
above  all,  on  a  vast  crowd  of  kneeling  \\omen,  whose  bo\\ed 
heads  and  wailing  voices  as  they  chanted  the  Litany  of  the  Vir- 
gin, filled  the  nave. 

There  were  some,  principally  on  the  fringe  of  the  assembly, 
who  roeked  themselves  to  and  fro,  weeping  silently,  or  lay  still 
as  statues,  with  their  foreheads  pressed  to  the  cold  stones;  while 


4<ON    LONG    PIKES    RAISED    HIGH    ABOTE    THE    MOB    MOVED   THE    SEV- 
ERED HEADS" 


.   THE    MILLENNIUM  369 

others  glanced  this  way  and  that  with  staring  eyes,  and  started  at 
the  slightest  sound  and  moaned  prayers  with  white  lips.  But  more 
and  more  the  passionate  utterance  of  the  braver  souls  laid  bonds 
on  the  others;  louder  and  louder  the  measured  rhythm  of  "Ora 
pro  nobis  !  Ora  pro  nobis !"  rose  and  swelled  through  the  vaults 
of  the  roof ;  more  and  more  fervent  it  grew,  more  and  more  im- 
portunate, wilder  the  abandonment  of  supplication,  until — until 
I  felt  the  tears  rise  in  my  throat,  and  my  breast  swell  with  pity 
and  admiration — and  then  I  saw  Denise. 

She  knelt  between  her  mother  and  Madame  Catinot,  nearly  in 
the  front  row  of  those  who  faced  the  high  altar.  Whence  I 
stood  I  had  a  side  view  of  her  face  as  she  looked  upward  in  rapt 
adoration — that  face  which  I  had  once  deemed  so  childish.  Now 

• 

at  the  thought  that  she  prayed,  perhaps  for  me — at  the  thought 
that  this  woman,  so  pure  and  brave,  that,  though  little  more  than 
a  child,  and  soft  and  gentle  and  maidenly,  she  could  bear  her- 
self with  no  shadow  of  quailing  in  this  stress  of  death — at  the 
thought  that  she  loved  me  and  prayed  for  me  I  felt  myself 
more  or  less  than  a  man  !  I  felt  tears  rising,  I  felt  my  breast 
heaving,  and  then — and  then,  as  I  went  to  drop  on  my  knees, 
against  the  great  doors  on  the  farther  side  of  the  church  came  a 
thunderous  shock,  followed  by  a  shower  of  blows  and  loud  cries 
for  admittance. 

A  horrible  kind  of  shudder  ran  through  the  kneeling  crowd, 
and  here  and  there  a  woman  screamed  and  sprang  up  and 
looked  wildly  round.  But  for  a  few  moments  the  chant  still 
rose  monotonously  and  filled  the  building,  louder  and  louder 
the  measured  rhythm  of  "  Ora  pro  nobis !  Ora  pro  nobis !" 
still  rose  and  fell  and  rose  again  with  an  intensity  of  supplica- 
tion, a  pathos  of  repetition,  that  told  of  bursting  hearts.  At 
length,  however,  one  of  the  leaves  of  the  door  flew  open,  and 
that  proved  too  much;  the  sound  sent  three  parts  of  the  con- 
gregation shrieking  to  their  feet,  though  a  few  still  sang.  By 
this  time  I  was  half-way  through  the  crowd,  pressing  to 
Denise's  side ;  but  before  I  could  reach  her  the  other  door 
gave  way,  and  a  dozen  men  flocked  in  turaultuously.  I  had  a 
glimpse  of  a  priest — afterwards  I  learned  that  it  was  Father 
Benoit — standing  to  oppose  them  with  a  cross  upraised  ;  and 


JiTU  THE    RED    COCK. \ UK 

then,  by  the  dim  light,  which  to  them  was  darkness,  I  saw — un- 
speakable relief — that  the  intruders  were  not  the  leader-;  of  the 
iiiul),  but  foremost  the  two  St.  Alaises,  blood-stained  and  black 
with  powder,  with  drawn  sw.n-ds  and  clothes  torn  ;  and  behind 
them  a  score  of  their  followers. 

In  their  relief  women  flung  themselves  on  the  men's  necks, 
and  those  who  stood  farther  away  burst  into  loud  sobbing  and 
weeping.  But  the  men  themselves,  after  securing  the  d 
behind  them,  began  immediately  to  move  across  the  church  to 
the  smaller  exit  on  the  alley,  one  crying  that  all  was  lost,  and 
another  that  the  east  gate  was  open,  while  a  third  adjured  the 
women  to  separate  —  adding  that  in  the  neighboring  houses 
they  would  be  safe,  but  that  the  church  would  be  sacked  ;  and 
that  even  now  the  Calvinists  were  bursting  in  the  gates  of  the 
monastery  through  which  the  fugitives  had  retreated,  after  being 
driven  out  of  the  Arenos. 

All,  on  the  instant,  was  panic  and  wailing  and  confusion.  I 
have  heard  it  said  since  that  the  worst  thing  the  men  could 
have  done  was  to  take  the  church  in  their  flight,  and  that  had 
tlie\  kept  aloof  the  women  would  not  have  been  disturbed  ;  that, 
as  a  fact,  and  in  the  event,  the  •church  was  not  sacked.  But  in 
such  a  hell  as  was  Nimes  that  morning,  with  the  kennels  run- 
ning blood,  and  men's  souls  surprised  by  sudden  defeat,  it  was 
hard  to  decide  what  was  best ;  and  I  blame  no  one. 

A  rush  for  the  door  followed  the  man's  words.  It  drove  me  a 
little  farther  from  Denise ;  but  as  she  and  the  group  round  her 
held  back  and  let  the  more  timid  or  selfish  go  first,  I  had  time 
to  gain  her  side.  She  had  drawn  the  hood  of  her  cloak  close 
round  her  face,  and  until  I  touched  her  arm  did  not  .see  me. 
Then,  without  a  word,  she  clung  to  me — she  clung  to  me,  look- 
ing up  :  I  saw  her  face  under  the  hood,  and  it  was  happy.  (Jod  ! 
It  was  happv,  even  in  that  scene  of  terror  ! 

After  that,  Madame  St.  Alais,  though  she  greeted  me  with  a 
bitter  smile,  had  no  power  to  repel  me.  "You  are  quick,  mon- 
sieur, to  profit  by  your  victory,"  she  said,  in  a  scathing  tone. 
And  that  was  all.  Unrebuked,  1  parsed  my  arm  round  I'enise, 
and  followed  close  on  Louis  and  Madame  Catinot;  while  Mon- 
sieur le  Marquis,  after  speaking  with  his  mother,  followed.  As 


THE    MILLENNIUM  371 

lie  did  so  his  eye  fell  on  me ;  but  he  only  smiled,  and  to  some- 
thing madame  said,  answered,  aloud,  "Mon  Dieu,  madame,  what 
does  it  matter?  We  have  thrown  the  last  stake  and  lost.  Let 
us  leave  the  table  !" 

She  dropped  her  hood  over  her  faco  ;  and  even  in  that  mo- 
ment of  fear  and  excitement  I  found  something  tragic  in  the 
act,  and  on  a  sudden  pitied  her.  But  it  was  no  time  for  senti- 
ment or  pity  ;  the  pursuers  were  not  far  behind  the  pursued. 
We  were  still  in  the  church  and  some  paces  from  the  threshold 
giving  on  the  alley,  when  a  rush  of  footsteps  outside  the  great 
doors  behind  us  made  itself  heard,  and  the  next  instant  the  doors 
creaked  under  the  blows  hailed  upon  them.  It  was  a  question 
whether  they  would  stand  until  we  were  out,  and  I  felt  the 
slender  figure  within  my  arm  quiver  and  press  more  closely  to 
me.  But  they  held — they  held,  and  an  instant  later  the  crowd 
before  us  gave  way,  and  we  were  outside  in  the  daylight,  in  the 
alley,  hurrying  quickly  down  it  towards  Madame  Catinot's  house. 

It  seemed  to  me  that  we  were  safe  then,  or  nearly  safe,  so 
glad  was  I  to  find  myself  in  the  open  air  and  out  of  the  church. 
The  ground  fell  away  a  little  towards  Madame  Catinot's,  and  I 
could  see  the  line  of  hastening  heads  bobbing  along  before  us, 
and  here  and  there  white  faces  turned  to  look  back.  The  high 
walls  on  either  hand  softened  the  noise  of  the  riot.  Behind  me 
were  M.  le  Marquis  and  madame,  and  again  behind  them  three 
or  four  of  M.  le  Marquis's  followers  brought  up  the  rear.  I 
looked  back  beyond  these  and  saw  that  the  alley  opposite  the 
church  was  still  clear,  and  that  the  pursuers  had  not  yet  passed 
through  the  church ;  and  I  stooped  to  whisper  a  word  of  com- 
fort to  Denise.  I  stooped  longer  perhaps  than  was  necessary, 
for  before  I  was  aware  of  it  I  found  myself  stumbling  over 
Louis's  heels.  A  backward  wave  sweeping  up  the  alley  had 
brought  him  up  short  and  flung  him  against  me.  With  the 
movement,  as  we  all  jostled  one  another,  there  arose  far  in  front 
and  rolled  up  in  the  passage  between  the  high  walls  a  sound  of 
misery — a  mingling  of  groans  and  screams  and  wailing  such  as 
I  hope  I  may  never  hear  again.  Some  strove  furiously  to  push 
their  way  back  towards  the  church,  and  some,  not  understanding 
what  was  amiss,  to  go  forward,  and  some  fell,  and  were  trodden 


THE  RED  COCKADE 

under  foot;  and  for  a  few  seconds  the  long  narrow  alley  hea\ed 
and  seethed  in  an  agony  of  panic. 

K  imaged  in  saving  Denise  from  the  crush  and  keeping  her  <>n 
her  feet,  I  did  not,  for  a  moment,  understand.  The  first  thought 
1  had  was  that  the  women — three  out  of  four  were  women  —  had 
gone  mad  or  given  way  to  a  shameful,  selfish  terror.  Then,  a* 
our  company,  staggering  and  screaming,  rolled  back  upon  us,  un- 
til it  filled  but  half  the  length  of  the  passage,  I  heard  in  front  a 
roar  of  cruel  laughter,  and  saw  over  the  intervening  heads  a  ser- 
ried mass  of  pike-points  filling  the  end  of  the  passage  opposite 
Madame  Catinot's  house.  Then  I  understood.  The  Calvinists 
had  cut  us  off;  and  my  heart  stood  still. 

For  there  was  no  retreat.  I  looked  behind  me,  and  saw  the 
alley  by  the  church  porch  choked  with  men  who  had  reached  it 
through  the  church,  alive  with  harsh  mocking  faces  and  scowl- 
ing eyes  and  cruel  thirsty  pikes.  We  were  hemmed  in  ;  in  the 
l.,nur  high  walls,  which  it  was  impossible  to  scale,  was  no  door  or 
outlet  short  of  Madame  Catinot's  house — and  that  was  guarded. 
And  before  and  behind  us  were  the  pikes. 

I  dream  of  that  scene  sometimes;  of  the  sunshine,  hot  and 
bright,  that  lay  ghastly  on  white  faces  distorted  with  fear;  of 
women  fallen  on  their  knees  and  lifting  hands  this  way  and 
that;  of  others  screaming  and  uttering  freii/icd  prayers,  or 
hanging  on  men's  necks;  of  the  long  writhing  line  of  human- 
ity, wherein  fear,  showing  itself  in  every  shape,  had  its  way  ; 
above  all,  of  the  fiendish  jeers  and  laughter  of  the  victors,  as 
they  cried  to  the  men  to  step  out,  or  hurled  vile  words  at  the 
women. 

Kveu  Nimes,  mother  of  factions,  parent  of  a  hundred  (jiiarter- 
less  brawls,  never  saw  a  worse  scene  or  one  more  devilish.  l'<>r 
a  few  seconds,  in  the  surprise  of  this  trap,  in  the  sudden  horror 
of  finding  ourselves  when  all  seemed  well  at  grips  with  death,  I 
could  only  clutch  Denise  to  me  tighter  and  tighter,  and  hide  her 
-  on  mv  breast,  as  1  leaned  against  the  wall  and  groaned  with 
white  lips.  ( >h,  (Jod,  I  thought,  the  women  !  The  women  !  At 
sueh  a  time  a  man  would  give  all  the  world  that  there  might  be 
none,  or  that  he  had  never  loved  one. 

St.  Alais  was  the  first  to  recover  his  presence  of  mind  and  act 


THE    MILLENNIUM  373 

— if  that  could  be  called  action  which  was  no  more  than  speech, 
since  we  were  hopelessly  enmeshed  and  outnumbered.  Putting 
madame  behind  him,  he  waved  a  white  kerchief  to  the  men  by 
the  door  of  the  church,  who  stood  about  thirty  paces  from  us, 
and  adjured  them  to  let  the  women  pass;  even  taunting  them 
when  they  refused,  and  gibing  at  them  as  cowards,  who  dared 
not  face  the  men  unencumbered. 

But  they  only  answered  with  jeers  and  threats,  and  savage 
laughter.  "  No,  no,  M.  le  Pretre  !"  they  cried.  "  No,  no  !  Come 
out  and  taste  steel !  Then,  perhaps,  we  will  let  the  women  go  ! 
Or  perhaps  not !" 

"  You  cowards  !"  he  cried. 

But  they  only  brandished  their  arms  and  laughed,  shrieking, 
"A  bas  lea  traUres!  A  has  les  pretres !  Standout!  Standout, 
messieurs  !"  they  continued,  "  or  we  will  come  and  pluck  you 
from  the  women's  skirts  !" 

He  glowered  at  them  in  unspeakable  rage.  Then  a  man  on 
their  side  stepped  out  and  stilled  the  tumult.  "Now  listen!" 
said  this  fellow,  a  giant,  with  long  black  hair  falling  over  a 
tallowy  face.  "We  will  give  you  three  minutes  to  come  out 
and  be  piked.  Then  the  women  shall  go.  Skulk  there  behind 
them,  and  we  fire  on  all,  and  their  blood  be  on  your  heads." 

St.  Alais  stood  speechless.  At  last,  "  You  are  fiends  !"  he 
cried,  in  a  voice  of  horror.  "  Would  you  kill  us  before  their 
eyes  ?" 

"  Aye,  in  their  laps !"  the  man  retorted,  amid  a  roar  of  laugh- 
ter. "  So  decide,  decide  !"  he  continued,  dancing  a  clumsy  step 
and  tossing  a  half-pike  round  his  head.  "Three  minutes  by  the 
clock  there  !  Come  out,  or  we  fire  on  all !  It  will  be  a  dainty 
pie  !  A  dainty  Catholic  pie,  messieurs  !" 

St.  Alais  turned  to  me,  his  face  white,  his  eyes  staring,  and 
he  tried  to  speak.  But  his  voice  failed. 

And  then  of  what  happened  next  I  cannot  tell;  for  a  min- 
ute all  was  blurred.  I  remember  only  how  the  sun  lay  hot  on 
the  wall  beyond  his  face,  and  how  black  the  lines  of  mortar 
showed  between  the  old  thin  Roman  bricks.  We  were  about 
twenty  men  and  perhaps  fifty  women  huddled  together  in  a 
space  some  forty  yards  long.  Groans  burst  from  the  men's  lips, 


374  TI1K     KKI)     roCKADK 

and  sucli  as  had  women  in  tlieir  arms — ami  they  were  many — 
leaned  against  the  wall  and  tried  to  comfort  them,  and  tried  to 
put  them  from  them.  One  man  cried  curses  on  the  dogs  \\h«> 
would  murder  us,  and  shook  his  lists  at  them  ;  and  some  rained 
kisses  on  the  pale  senseless  faces  that  lay  on  their  breasts,  for, 
thank  <Jod,  many  of  the  women  had  fainted;  while  others,  like 
St.  Alais,  looked  mute  agony  into  eyes  that  told  it  again,  or 
clasped  a  neighbor's  hand,  and  looked  up  into  a  skv  pitilessly 
blue  and  bright.  And  I — I  do  not  know  what  I  did,  save  look 
into  Denise's  eyes  and  look  and  look !  There  was  no  senseless- 
ness in  them. 

lu •member  that  the  sun  shone  on  all  this,  and  the  birds  twit- 
tered and  chirped  in  the  gardens  beyond  the  walls  ;  that  it 
wanted  an  hour  or  two  of  high  noon,  a  southern  noon;  that  in 
the  crease  of  the  valley  the  Rhone  sparkled  between  its  banks, 
and  not  far  off  the  sea  broke  rippling  and  creaming  on  the  shore 
of  Les  Bouches ;  that  all  nature  rejoiced,  and  only  we — we,  pent 
between  those  dreadful  walls,  those  scowling  faces,  saw  death 
imminent — black  death  shutting  out  all  things. 

A  hand  touched  mine  ;  it  was  St.  Alais's  hand.  I  think — nay, 
I  know,  for  I  read  it  in  his  face — that  he  meant  to  be  reconciled 
to  me.  But  when  I  turned  to  him — or  it  may  be  it  was  the 
sight  of  his  sister's  speechless  misery  moved  him — he  had  an- 
other thought.  As  the  black-haired  giant  called  "One  minute 
gone !"  and  his  following  howled,  M.  le  Marquis  threw  up  his 
hand. 

"Slav  !"  lie  cried,  with  the  old  gesture  of  command.  "Stay  ! 
There  is  one  man  here  who  is  not  of  us!  Let  him  pass  first, 
and  go!"  And  he  pointed  to  me.  "lie  lias  no  part  with  us.  I 
swear  it!" 

A  roar  of  cruel  laughter  was  the  answer.  Then,  "  He  that  is 
not  with  me  is  against  me  !"  the  giant  emoted,  impiously.  And 
they  jeered  again. 

On  that,  I  take  no  credit  for  what  I  did.  In  such  moments 
of  exaltation  men  are  not  accountable;  and  for  another  thing,  I 
knew  that  they  would  not  listen,  that  I  risked  nothing.  And, 
trembling  with  rage,  I  flung  back  tlieir  words.  "  I  am  against 
you!"  I  cried.  "I  would  rather  die  here  with  these  than  live 


THE    THIRD    BORE    ME    DOWN    WITH    HIS    PIKE    FIXED    IN    MY    SHOULDER 


THE    MILLENNIUM  377 

with  you  !  You  stain  the  earth  !  You  pollute  the  air  !  You  are 
fiends—" 

No  more,  for  with  a  shrill  laugh  the  man  next  me,  a  mere  lad, 
half-witted,  I  think,  and  the  same  who  had  cursed  them,  sprang 
by  me  and  rushed  on  the  pike-points.  Half  a  dozen  met  in  his 
breast  before  our  eyes — before  our  eyes ! — and  with  a  wild  scream 
he  flung  up  his  arms  and  was  borne  back  against  the  side  wall 
dead  and  gushing  blood. 

Instinctively  I  had  covered  Denise's  face  that  she  might  not 
see.  And  it  was  well;  for  at  that  —  there  was  a  kind  of 
mercy  in  it,  and  let  me  tell  it  quickly — the  wretches,  tasting 
blood,  broke  loose  and  rushed  on  us.  I  saw  St.  Alais  thrust 
his  mother  behind  him,  and  almost  with  the  same  movement 
fling  himself -on  the  pikes;  and  I,  pushing  Denise  down  into 
the  angle  of  the  wall  —  though  she  clung  to  me  and  prayed 
to  me — killed  the  first  that  came  at  me  with  Froment's  pistol, 
and  the  next  also,  with  the  other  barrel,  at  point-blank  dis- 
tance— feeling  no  fear,  but  only  passion  and  rage.  The  third 
bore  me  down  with  his  pike  fixed  in  my  shoulder,  and  for  a 
moment  I  saw  only  the  sky  and  his  scowling  face  black 
against  it,  and  shut  my  eyes,  expecting  the  blow  that  must 
follow. 

But  none  did  follow.  Instead  a  weight  fell  on  me,  and  I 
began  to  struggle,  and  a  whole  battle,  it  seemed  to  me,  was 
fought  over  me  in  that  horrible  slaughter-house  alley,  where 
they  dragged  men  from  women's  arms,  and  forced  them, 
screaming,  to  the  wall,  and  stabbed  them  to  death  without  pity  ; 
and  things  were  done  which  I  dare  not  tell ! 


CHAPTER   XXV 
BEYOND    THE    SHADOW 

I  THANK  Heaven  that  I  saw  little  more  than  I  have  told.  A 
score  of  feet  trampled  on  me  as  the  murderers  stumbled  this 
way  and  that,  and  bruised  me  and  covered  me  with  blood  that 
was  not  my  own.  And  I  heard  screams  of  men  in  the  death- 
throe,  ear-piercing  shrieks  of  women — shrieks  that  chilled  the 
blood  and  stopped  the  breath — mad  laughter,  sounds  of  the  pit. 
But  to  rise  was  to  court  instant  death,  and,  though  I  had  no 
hope  and  no  looking  forward,  my  momentary  passion  had  spent 
itself  and  I  lay  quiet.  Resistance  was  useless. 

At  last,  I  thought,  the  end  had  come.    The  body  that  pi 
on  me  and   partly  hid  me   was    abruptly   dragged    away  ;    the 
light  came  to  my  eyes,  and  a  voice  cried,  briskly,  "  Here   i- 
another  !      He  is  alive!" 

I  staggered  to  my  feet,  stupidly  willing  to  die  with  some 
sort  of  dignity.  The  speaker  was  a  stranger,  but  by  his  side 
was  Buton,  and  beyond  him  stood  De  G6ol ;  and  there  were 
others,  all  staring  at  me,  face  beyond  face.  Still,  I  could  not 
believe  that  I  wax  saved.  "  If  you  are  going  to  do  it,  do  it 
quietly,"  I  muttered  ;  and  I  opened  my  arms. 

"God  forbid!"  Buton  answered,  hurriedly.  ••  Knough  has 
been  done  already,  and  too  nun  h  !  M.  le  Vicomte,  lean  on 
me!  Lean  on  me,  and  come  this  way.  Mon  Dicu,  I  was  only 
just  in  time.  If  they  had  killed  you — " 

"That  is  the  fifth,'"  said  I  >e  (Jeol. 

Buton  did  not  answer,  but  taking  my  arm,  gently  urged  me 
along,  and  De  Ge<«l  taking  the  other  side,  I  walked  between 
tliein,  through  a  lane  of  people  \vho  stared  at  me  with  a  sort 
of  brutish  wonder — a  lane  of  people  with  faees  that  looked 


"  BETWEEN    THEM    I    PASSED    THROUGH    A    DOOR   THAT   SEEMED    TO   OPEN    IN    THE 

WALL  " 


BEYOND    THE    SHADOW  381 

strangely  white  in  the  sunshine.  I  was  bareheaded,  and  the 
sun  dazzled  and  confused  me ;  but  obeying  the  pressure  of 
Buton's  hand,  I  swerved,  and  passed  through  a  door  that  seemed 
to  open  in  the  wall.  As  I  did  so  I  dropped  a  kerchief  which 
some  one  had  given  me  to  bind  up  my  shoulder.  A  man 
standing  beside  the  door,  the  last  man  on  the  right-hand  side 
of  the  lane  of  people,  picked  it  up  and  gave  -it  to  me  with  a 
kindly  alacrity.  He  had  a  pike,  and  his  hands  were  covered 
with  blood,  and  I  do  not  doubt  that  he  was  one  of  the  mur- 
derers ! 

Two  men  were  carrying  some  one  into  the  house  before  us, 
and  at  the  sight  of  the  helpless  body  and  hanging  head,  sense 
and  memory  returned  to  me  with  a  rush.  I  caught  Buton  by 
the  breast  of  his  coat  and  shook  him  —  shook  him  savagely. 
"  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Alais !"  I  cried.  "  What  have  you  done 
to  her,  wretch  ?  If  you  have — " 

"  Hush,  monsieur,  hush,"  he  answered,  reproachfully.  "  And 
be  yourself.  She  is  safe,  and  here,  I  give  you  my  word.  She 
was  carried  in  among  the  first.  I  don't  think  a  hair  of  her  head 
is  injured." 

"She  was  carried  in  here?"  I  said. 

"  Yes,  M.  le  ^7icomte." 

"  And  safe  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes." 

I  believe  that  at  that  I  burst  into  tears  not  altogether  unmanly ; 
for  they  were  tears  of  thankfulness  and  gratitude.  I  had  gone 
through  very  much,  and,  though  the  wound  in  my  arm  was  a 
trifle,  I  had  lost  some  blood ;  and  the  tears  may  be  forgiven 
me.  Nor,  indeed,  was  I  alone  in  weeping  that  day.  I  learned 
afterwards  that  one  of  the  very  murderers,  a  man  who  had  been 
foremost  in  the  work,  cried  bitterly  when  he  came  to  himself 
and  saw  what  he  had  done. 

They  killed  in  Nimes  on  that  day  and  the  two  next  about 
three  hundred  men,  principally  in  the  Capuchin  convent — 
which  Froment  had  used  as  a  printing-office  and  made  the 
headquarters  of  his  propaganda — in  the  Cabaret  Rouge,  and 
in  Froment's  own  house,  which  held  out  until  they  brought 
cannon  to  bear  on  it.  Not  more  than  one-half  of  these  fell  in 

19 


382  THE    RED    COCKADE 

actual  conflict  or  hot  blood;  the  remainder  were  hunted  down 
in  lanes  and  houses  and  hiding-places,  and  killed  \\here  tln-v 
were  found,  or,  surrendering  at  discretion,  were  led  to  the 
nearest  wall  and  there  shot. 

Later,  both  in  Paris  and  the  provinces,  this  severity  was  com- 
mended, and  held  up  to  admiration  as  the  truest  mercy,  on  the 
ground  that  it  stamped  out  the  fire  of  revolt  which  was  on 
the  point  of  blazing  up,  and  prevented  it  spreading  to  tin- 
rest  of  France.  But,  looking  back,  I  find  in  it  another  thing — 
I  find  in  it  not  mercy,  but  the  first,  or  nearly  the  first,  instance 
of  that  strange  contempt  of  human  life  which  marked  the 
Revolution  in  its  later  stages;  of  the  extravagance  of  cruelty 
which  three  years  afterwards  paralyzed  society  and  astounded 
the  world,  and,  by  the  horrible  excesses  into  which  it  occa- 
sionally led  men,  proved  to  the  philosophers  of  the  human 
race  that  France  in  the  last  days  of  the  eighteenth  centurv 
could  do  in  the  daylight,  at  Arras  and  Nantes  and  Paris,  deeds 
which  the  tyrants  of  old  confined  to  the  dark  recesses  of 
their  torture-chambers — deeds,  t  blush  to  say  it,  that  no  other 
polite  country  has  matched  in  this  age. 

P>ut  with  these  crimes — and  be  it  understood  I  do  not 
here  to  the  work  of  the  guillotine  —  I  thank  God  that  I  have 
at  this  time  nothing  to  do.  They  left  their  traces  on  later 
pages  of  my  life  —  as  on  the  life  of  what  frenchman  have 
they  not? — and  some  day  I  may  revert  to  them.  But  mv  task 
here  barely  touches  them.  It  is  enough  for  me  to  say  that 
of  eighteen  men  who  shared  with  me  the  horrors  of  the  alley 
by  the  Capuchins,  four  only  lived  to  tell  the  tale  and  look  back 
on  the  walls  of  Nimes,  they  and  I  owing  our  lives,  in  part,  to 
the  timely  arrival  of  Buton  and  some  foreign  representatives 
who  did  not  share  the  Cevennols'  fanaticism,  and  partly  to  the 
late  relenting  of  the  murderers  themselves. 

Of  the  four,  Father  Benoit  and  Louis  St.  Alais  were  two; 
and  strange  was  the  meeting  when  we  three,  so  wonderfully 
preserved,  with  clothes  still  torn  and  disordered,  and  faces 
splashed  with  blood,  came  together  in  the  np-stairs  salon  at 
iame  Catinot's.  The  shutters  of  the  room,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  one  high  corner  shutter,  were  still  closed;  dead  a- 


BEYOXD    THE    SHADOW  383 

lay  white  and  cold  in  the  empty  fireplace,  that  had  blazed  so 
cheerfully  in  my  honor  the  night  I  supped  with  Madame 
Catinot.  The  whole  room  was  gloomy  and  chill,  the  furniture 
cast  long  shadows,  and  up  the  stairs  came  the  clamor  of  the 
mob,  that,  having  seen  us  into  the  house,  eddied  curiously  round 
the  scene  of  the  murder,  and  could  not  have  enough  of  it. 

A  strange  meeting,  for  we  three  had  all  loved  one  another, 
and  by  stress  of  the  times  had  been  separated.  Now  we  met 
as  from  the  grave,  ghostly  figures,  livid,  trembling,  with  shak- 
ing hands  and  eyes  burning  with  the  light  of  fever,  but  with 
all  differences  purged  away.  "  My  brother  !"  "  Your  brother !" 
and  Louis's  hands  met  mine,  as  if  the  man  who  had  died  with 
the  courage  of  his  race  joined  them  ;  while  Father  Benoit 
wrung  his  hands  in  uncontrollable  grief,  or  walked  the  room, 
crying,  "  My  poor  children  !  Oh,  my  poor  children  !  God  have 
mercy  on  this  land  !" 

A  low  sound  of  women's  voices,  and  weeping,  with  the  hurry- 
ing of  feet  going  softly  to  and  fro,  came  from  the  next  room  ; 
and  that  it  was,  I  think,  that  presently  calmed  us,  so  that,  ex- 
cept for  an  occasional  burst  of  grief  on  Louis's  part,  we  could  talk 
quietly.  I  learned  that  Madame  St.  Alais  lay  there,  sadly  in- 
jured in  the  melee,  either  by  her  fall  or  a  blow  from  a  foot,  and 
that  Denise  and  Madame  Catinot  and  a  surgeon  were  with  her. 
The  very  room  in  its  gloom  was  funereal,  and  we  talked  in  whis- 
pers, and  then  sank  into  silence  ;  or  again  one  or  another  would 
rise  with  a  shudder  of  remembrance,  and  walk  the  room  with 
heaving  breast.  Presently,  the  sound  of  guns  coming  to  our  ears, 
we  forgot  ourselves  for  a  while  and  talked  of  Froment,  and  what 
chance  of  escape  he  had,  and  listened  and  heard  the  mob  rav- 
ing and  howling  as  it  surged  by,  and  then  talked  again.  But 
always  as  men  who  were  no  longer  concerned — as  men  whom 
death  had  released  from  the  common  obligations. 

Presently  they  came  and  called  Louis,  who  went  to  his  mother ; 
and  then  after  another  interval  Father  Benoit  was  summoned, 
and  I  walked  the  room  alone.  Silence  after  so  great  commo- 
tions, solitude  when  an  hour  before  I  had  dealt  death  and  faced 
it  in  that  inferno,  safety  after  danger  so  imminent,  all  stirred 
the  depths  of  my  heart.  When,  in  addition,  I  thought  of  St. 


384  THE    RED    COCKADE 

Alais's  death,  and  recalled  the  brilliant  promise,  the  daring,  the 
brightness  of  that  haughty  spirit  now  forever  quenched,  I  felt 
the  tears  rise  again.  I  paced  the  room  in  uncontrollable  emo- 
tion, and  was  thankful  for  the  gloom  that  allowed  me  to  give 
it  vent.  Old  times,  old  scenes,  old  affections,  rose  up,  and  mv 
boyhood ;  I  remembered  that  we  had  played  together,  I  forgot 
that  we  had  gone  different  ways. 

After  a  long  time,  a  long,  long  time,  when  evening  had  nearly 
come,  Louis  came  in  to  me.  "  Will  you  come  ?"  he  said, 
abruptly. 

"  To  Madame  St.  Alais  ?" 

"  Yes,  she  wants  to  see  you,"  he  replied,  holding  the  door 
open,  and  speaking  in  the  dull,  even  tone  of  one  who  knows  all. 

After  such  a  scene  as  we  had  passed  through  comes  reaction ; 
I  was  worn  out,  and  I  went  with  him  mechanically,  thinking 
rather  of  the  past  than  the  present.  But  no  sooner  was  I  OMT 
the  threshold  of  the  next  room,  which,  unlike  that  I  had  left, 
was  brilliantly  lit  by  candles  set  in  sconces,  the  shutters  being 
closed,  than  I  came  to  myself  with  a  shock.  Propped  up  with 
pillows  on  a  bed  opposite  the  door,  so  that  I  met  her  eyes  and 
had  a  full  view  of  her  face  as  I  entered,  lay  Madame  St.  Alais; 
and  I  stood.  Her  face  was  white,  with  a  red  spot  burning  in 
each  cheek ;  her  eyes  matched  the  color  in  brilliance ;  but  it 
was  neither  of  these  things  that  brought  me  up  suddenly,  nor 
— though  I  noticed  it  with  foreboding — the  way  in  which  slit- 
plucked  at  the  coverlet  when  she  spoke.  It  was  something  in 
her  expression ;  something  so  unfitting  the  occasion,  so  bizarre 
and  light  that  I  stood  appalled. 

She  saw  my  hesitation,  and  in  a  gay  and  slightly  affrrtrd 
tone  that  in  a  moment  told  the  story,  a  tone  more  dreadful 
under  the  circumstances  than  the  most  pathetic  outburst,  she  re- 
proached me  with  it.  "  Welcome,  M.  le  Vicomte,"  she  said. 
"  And  yet  I  am  glad  to  see  that  you  have  some  modesty.  \V<- 
will  not  be  hard  <>n  yon,  however.  A  late  repentance  is  better 
than  none,  and — where  is  my  fan,  I>enise  '.  Child,  my  fan  !" 

IVnise  rose,  with  a  choking  sound,  from  her  seat  by  the  Led, 
and  must,  I  think,  have  broken  down  ;  we  had  all  nerves  \\oni 
to  the  last  thread.  But  Madame  Catinot  saved  the  situation. 


BEYOND    THE    SHADOW  385 

Hastily  reaching  a  fan  from  a  side  table,  she  laid  a  firm  hand  on 
the  younger  woman's  shoulder  as  she  passed,  and  gently  pressed 
her  back  into  her  seat. 

"  Thank  you,  my  dear,"  Madame  St.  Alais  said,  playing  an 
instant  with  the  fan,  and  smiling  from  side  to  side,  as  I  had 
seen  her  smile  a  hundred  times  in  her  salon.  "  And  now,  M. 
le  Vicomte,"  she  continued,  with  ghastly  archness,  "  I  think 
that  you  will  have  the  grace  to  say  that  I  was  a  true  prophet." 

I  muttered  something,  Heaven  knows  what ;  the  scene,  with 
madame's  smiling  face"  and  the  others'  bowed  shoulders  and 
averted  eyes,  was  dreadful. 

"  I  never  doubted  that  you  would  have  to  join  us,"  she  went 
on,  with  complacency.  "And  if  I  were  cruel  I  should  have 
much  to  say.  But  as  you  have  returned  to  your  allegiance  be- 
fore it  was  too  late,  we  will  let  by-gones  be  by-gones.  His  Maj- 
esty is  so  good  that  —  but  where  arc  the  others  ?  We  cannot 
proceed  without  them." 

She  looked  round  with  a  touch  of  her  native  peremptorincss. 
"  Where  is  M.  de  Gontaut  ?"  she  said.  "  Louis,  has  not  M.  de 
Gontaut  arrived  ?  He  promised  to  be  here  to  witness  the  con- 
tract." 

Louis,  from  his  place  by  one  of  the  closed  windows,  where 
he  stood  with  Father  Benoit  and  the  surgeon,  answered  in  a 
strained  voice  that  he  had  not  yet  arrived. 

Madame  seemed  to  find  something  unnatural  in  his  tone  and 
our  attitude ;  she  looked  uneasily  from  one  to  the  other  of  us. 
"  There  is  nothing  the  matter,  is  there  ?"  she  said,  flirting  her 
fan  more  vigorously.  "  Nothing  has  happened  ?" 

"  No,  no,  madame,"  Louis  answered,  striving  to  soothe  her. 
"  Doubtless  he  will  be  here  by-and-by." 

But  a  shadow  of  anxiety  still  clouded  madame's  face.  "  And 
Victor  ?"  she  said.  "  He  has  not  come  either  ?  Louis,  are  you 
sure  that  there  is  nothing  the  matter  ?" 

"  Madame,  madame,  you  will  see  him  presently,"  he  answered, 
with  a  half-stifled  sob;  and  he  turned  away  with  a  gesture  of 
horror,  which,  but  for  one  of  the  curtains  of  the  alcove,  she  must 
have  seen. 

She  did  not,  though  there  was  enough  in  this  to  arouse  a  sane 


386  TI1K     KKl)     C0(   KAliK 

person's  suspicions.  As  lie  spoke,  however,  madame'>  eyes  fell 
on  mi-,  and  the  piteous  anxiety  which  had  for  the  moment  dark- 
ened her  face  passed  away  as  quickly  as  the  shadow  of  a  cloud 
passes  on  an  April  morning.  She  took  up  her  fan  again  and 
looked  at  me  gayly.  "Do  you  know,"  she  said,  "I  had  the 
strangest  dream  last  night,  M.  le  Vicomte — or  was  it  when  I 
was  ill,  Denise  ?  Never  mind.  But  I  dreamed  all  sorts  of  hor- 
rors :  that  our  house  here  was  burned  and  the  house  at  <  'ah« TS, 
and  that  we  had  to  fly  and  take  refuge  at  Montauban,  and  then 
— I  think  it  was  at  Nimes.  And  that  M.  de  Gontaut  was  mur- 
dered, and  all  the  canaille  were  up  in  arms  !  As  if — as  if,"  she 
continued,  with  a  little  laugh,  cut  short  by  a  gasp  of  pain,  "the 
King  would  permit  such  things,  or  they  were  possible.  And 
there  was  something — something  still  more  absurd  about  the 
church."  She  paused,  knitting  her  brows;  and  then,  with  a 
touch  of  her  fan  dismissing  the  subject,  "But  I  forget — I  for- 
get. And  just  when  it  was  most  horrible  I  awoke.  It  was  all 
absurd.  So  extravagant  you  would  all  be  ill  with  laughing  if  I 
could  remember  it.  I  fancied  that  a  pair  of  red-heeled  shoes 
were  as  good  as  a  death-warrant,  and  powder  and  patches  con- 
demed  you  at  once." 

She  paused.  The  fan  dropped  from  her  hand,  and  she  looked 
round  uneasily.  "I  think — I  think  I  am  not  quite  well  vet." 
she  said,  in  a  different  tone,  ami  a  spasm  crossed  her  face — it 
was  plain  that  she  was  in  pain.  "Louis!"  she  continued,  pet- 
ulantlv,  "  where  is  the  notary  ?  lie  might  read  the  contract. 
Doubtless  Victor  and  M.  de  <  loiituut  will  be  here  before  long. 
Where  is  he  .'"'  she  continued,  sharply. 

It  is  easy  to  say  that  we  might  have  played  our  parts ;  but 
the  pity  and  the  horror  of  it  falling  on  hearts  already  tortured 
liv  the  scenes  of  the  day  fairly  unmanned  us.  I>cnise  hid  her 
face  and  trembled  so  that  the.  chair  on  which  she  sat  shook; 
and  Louis  turned  away  shuddering,  while  I  stood  near  the  foot 
of  the  bed  fro/en  into  silence.  This  time  it  *  n.  a 

thin  young  man  of  dark  complexion,  who  put  himself  forward. 

"Tli  are  in  the  next  room,  madame,"  lie  said, 

ly. 

••  IJut  you  are  n«-t  M.  iVttifcr  .'"  she  answered,  querulously. 


BEYOND    THE    SHADOW  387 

"  No,  raadame ;  he  was  so  unwell  as  to  be  unable  to  leave  the 
house." 

"He  has  no  right  to  be  unwell,"  madame  retorted,  severely. 
"Pettifer  unwell,  and  Mademoiselle  St.  Alais's  contract  to  be 
signed  !  But  you  have  the  papers  ?" 

"  In  the  next  room,  madame." 

"  Fetch  them  !  Fetch  them  !"  she  answered,  her  eyes  wan- 
dering uneasily  from  one  to  another.  And  she  moved  in  the 
bed  and  sighed  as  one  in  pain.  Then,  "  Where  is  Victor  ? 
Why  does  he  not  come  ?"  she  asked,  impatiently. 

"  I  think  I  hear  him,"  Louis  said,  suddenly.  It  was  the  first 
time  he  had  spoken  of  his  own  free  will,  and  I  caught  a  new 
sound  in  his  voice.  "  I  will  see,"  he  went  on,  and  moving  to 
the  door  he  gave  me  a  sign,  as  he  passed,  to  follow  him. 

I  muttered  something  and  did  so.  In  the  room  in  which  I  had 
waited,  the  half -shuttered  room  of  gloom  and  shadows  from 
which  Louis  had  fetched  me,  we  found  the  surgeon  groping 
hastily  about.  "  Some  paper,  monsieur,"  he  said,  looking  up 
impatiently  as  we  entered.  "  Some  paper !  Almost  anything 
should  do." 

"Stay!"  Louis  said,  his  voice  harsh  with  pain.  "We  have 
had  too  much  of  this — this  mockery.  I  will  have  no  more." 

"Monsieur?" 

"  I  say  I  will  have  no  more  !"  Louis  answered,  fiercely,  a  sob 
in  his  throat.  "  Tell  her  the  truth." 

"She  would  not  believe  it." 

"  At  any  rate,  anything  is  better  than  this." 

"Do  you  mean  it,  monsieur?"  the  surgeon  asked,  slowly. 
And  he  looked  at  him. 

"I  do." 

"Then  I  will  have  no  part  in  it,"  the  man  answered,  with 
gravity.  "  I  acquit  myself  of  all  responsibility.  Nor  shall  you 
do  it,  monsieur,  until  you  have  heard  what  the  inevitable  result 
will  be." 

"  My  mother  cannot  recover,"  Louis  said,  stubbornly. 

"  No,  monsieur,  nor  will  she  live,  in  my  opinion,  more  than  a 
few  hours.  AVhen  the  fever  that  now  supports  her  begins  to 
wane  she  will  collapse,  and  die.  It  depends  on  you  whether  she 


TIIK     KKI>     COfK.VDK 


closes  her  eyes  knowing  none  of  the  evil  that  has  happened  or 
ln-r  son's  death,  or  dies  —  " 

"  It  is  horrible  !" 

"  It  is  for  you  to  choose,"  the  surgeon  answered,  inexorably. 

Louis  looked  round.  "There  is  paper  there  !"  he  said,  sud- 
denly. 

I  suppose  that  we  had  been  absent  from  the  room  no  more 
than  a  couple  of  minutes,  but  when  we  returned  we  found 
Madame  St.  Alais  calling  impatiently  for  us  and  for  Victor. 
"  Where  is  he?  Where  is  he  ?"  she  repeated,  feverishly.  "  Why 
is  he  late  to-day,  of  all  days?  There  is  no  —  no  quarrel  b< 
you  ?"  And  she  looked  jealously  at  me. 

••  None,  madame,"  I  said,  with  tears  in  my  voice.  ''That  I 
swear  !" 

"Then  why  is  he  not  here?  And  M.  de  Gontaut?"  Her 
eyes  were  still  bright;  the  red  spots  burned  still  in  her  checks; 
but  her  features  had  taken  a  pinched  look  ;  she  was  changed, 
and  her  fingers  were  never  still.  Her  voice  had  grown  harsh 
and  unnatural,  and  from  time  to  time  she  I<»"ked  round  with  a 
piteous  expression  as  if  something  pn/xlcd  her.  "  I  am  not 
well  to-day,"  she  muttered,  presently,  with  a  painful  effort  to  be 
herself,  "and  I  forget  to  be  as  gay  as  I  should  be.  Mademoi- 
selle, go  to  M.  le  Vicomtc,  and  say  something  pretty  to  amuse 
tts  while  we  wait.  And  you,  M.  le  Vicomte  !  In  my  young 
days  it  was  usual  for  the  //<//•»•/  to  salute  his  mistress  on  these 
"'•••a-ions.  Fie  on  you!  For  shame,  monsieur  !  I  am  afraid 
that  you  are  a  laggard  in  love." 

l>enise  rose  and  came  slowly  to  me  before  them  all,  but  no 
word  passed  her  pale  lips,  and  she  did  not  raise  her  c 
mine.  Sin-  remained  pa<>i\e  \\hen,  in  accordance  \\ith  nia- 
damr's  permission,  I  stooped  and  kissed  her  cold  check;  it 
i:rew  no  warmer,  her  eyes  did  not  kindle.  Vet  I  was  satisfied, 
more  than  satisfied;  f<,r  as  I  leaned  over  her  I  felt  her  little 
hands  —  little  hands  I  longed  to  take  in  mine  and  shelter  and 
t  —  I  felt  them  clutch  and  hold  the  front  of  my  coat,  as 
the  child  clings  to  its  mother's  neck.  I  passed  my  arm  round 
her  before  them  all,  and  so  we  stood  at  the  foot  of  madame's 
bed,  and  she  looked  at  us. 


" '  I   SAY   I   WILL   HATE   NO   MORE,'  HE    ANSWERED,  FIERCELY  " 


BEYOND    THE    SHADOW  391 

She  laughed  gayly.  "  Poor  little  mouse  !"  she  said,  "  she  is 
shy  yet.  Be  good  to  her,  mon  cher ;  she  is  a  tender  morsel,  and 
— I  don't  feel  well!  I  don't  feel  well!"  madame  repeated, 
abruptly  breaking  off,  and  lifting  herself  in  bed,  while  one  hand 
went  with  difficulty  to  her  head.  "  I  don't —  What  is  it?"  she 
continued,  the  color  visibly  fading  from  her  face  and  leaving 
it  white  and  drawn,  while  fear  leaped  into  her  staring  "eyes. 
"  What  is  it  ?  Fetch  —  fetch  some  one,  will  you  ?  The — the 
doctor !  And  Victor." 

Denise  slipped  from  my  arm  and  flew  to  her  side.  I  stood  a 
moment,  then  the  surgeon  touched  my  arm.  "  Go  !"  he  mut- 
tered. "  Go.  Leave  her  to  the  women.  It  will  be  quickly  over." 

And  so  Madame  St.  Alais  gave  mademoiselle  to  me  at  last, 
and  the  compact  for  our  marriage,  into  which  she  had  entered 
so  many  years  before  with  my  dead  father,  was  fulfilled. 

Madame  died  next  morning,  being  taken  not  only  from  the 
evil  to  come,  but  from  that  which  was  then  present,  and  roared 
and  eddied  through  the  streets  of  Nimes  round  the  unburicd 
body  of  her  son;  for  she  died  without  awaking  from  the  delir- 
ium which  followed  her  hurt.  I  went  in  to  see  her  lying  dead 
and  little  changed ;  and  in  the  quiet  decorum  of  the  lighted 
chamber  I  thought  reverently  of  the  change  which  one  year — 
one  brief  year — had  made,  coming  at  the  end  of  fifty  years  of 
prosperity.  It  seemed  pitiful  to  me  then,  as  I  stooped  and  kissed 
the  waxen  hand — very  pitiful ;  now,  knowing  what  the  future 
had  in  store,  remembering  the  twenty  years  of  exile  and  poverty 
and  tedium  and  hope  deferred  that  were  to  be  the  lot  of  so 
many  of  her  friends,  of  so  many  of  those  who  had  graced  her 
salons  at  St.  Alais  and  Cahors,  I  think  her  happy.  Possessed 
of  energy  as  well  as  pride,  a  rare  combination  in  our  order,  she 
and  hers  dared  greatly  and  greatly  lost ;  staked  all  and  lost  all. 
Yet  better  that  than  the  prison  or  the  guillotine ;  or  growing 
old  and  decrepit  in  a  strange  land,  to  return  to  a  patrie  that 
had  long  forgotten  them  ;  that  stood  in  the  roads  and  jeered 
at  the  old  berlins  and  petticoats  and  head-gear  that  were  the 
fashion  in  the  days  of  the  Polignacs. 

I  have  said  that  the  riots  in  Nimes  lasted  three  days.     On  the 


'••'.>-  THE     KK1)     COCKADE 

):ist  Buton  came  to  me  ami  t"M  us  we  must  go;  that  t<>  avoid 
\vorse  tilings  we  iiiust  leave  tlie  city  without  delay,  or  he  ami 
the  more  moderate  party  who  had  saved  us  would  no  longer  Ir- 
responsible. On  tliis,  Louis  was  fur  retiring  to  Montpellier, 
and  thence  to  the  emigres  at  Turin  ;  and  for  a  few  hours  1 
of  the  same  mind,  desiring  most  of  all  to  place  the  women  in 
:  y. 

I  owe  it  to  Buton  that  I  did  not  take  a  step  hard  to  rci-all, 
and  of  which  I  am  sure  that  I  should  have  repented  later.      He 
asked  me  bluntly  whither  I  was  going,  and  when  1  told  hiin. 
his  back  against    the  door.     "God  forbid!"  he  said.     "Who 
go,  go.      Few  will  return." 

1  answered  him  with  heat.  "Nonsense!"  I  cried.  "  I  tell 
you,  within  a  year  you  will  be  on  your  knees  to  us  to  come 
bar! 

-Why?"  he  said. 

"  You  cannot  keep  order  without  us." 

"  With  ease,"  lie  answered,  coolly. 

"  Look  at  the  state  of  things  here." 

44  It  will  : 

"  But  who  will  govern  :" 

"The  fittest,"  he  replied,  doggedly.  "For  do  you  still  think, 
M.  le  Yicomte,  after  all  that  has  happened,  that  a  man  to  make 
laws  must  have  a  title — saving  your  presence?  Do  you  still 
think  that  the  wheat  will  not  grow  nor  the  hens  lay  eggs  un- 
less the  seigneur's  shadow  falls  on  them?  Do  you  think  that 
to  fight  a  man  must  have  powder  on  his  head  as  well  as  in  his 
musket  ?" 

••  I  think,"  I  retorted,  "that  when  a  man  who  does  not  know 
the  sea  turns  pilot  it  is  time  to  leave  the  \. 

"The  pil.it    will  learn,"  he  answered;   "and   for   quitting  the 
1,  let  those  go  \\ho  have  no  business  on  board.     Be  guided, 
moiiseigneur,"  he  continued,  in  a  different  tone.      ••  IV  guided. 
They  have  killed  in  Nim<-s  three  hundred  in  three  <i 

••  An  1  •. 

"  Ay.-,  fop  tln-r>-   is  blood  between   us."  he  ai,  :  inily. 

••That  has  been  done   now   which   will  not  easily    be   forgiven; 
that  has  been  done  which    will   abide.      ('•<>  abroad   after  this — 


BEYOND    THE    SHADOW  393 

and  stay  abroad  !  Or  rather  do  not — do  not,  but  be  guided," 
he  continued,  with  rough  emotion  in  his  voice.  "Go  home  to 
the  chateau  and  be  quiet,  monsieur,  and  no  one  will  harm  you." 

There  was  much  in  what  he  said.  At  any  rate,  I  thought  the 
advice  so  good  that  after  some  hesitation  I  not  only  determined 
to  follow  it,  but  I  gave  it  to  the  others.  But  Louis  would  not 
change  his  mind.  A  horror  of  the  country  had  seized  him 
since  his  escape,  and  he  would  go.  He  raised  no  opposition, 
however,  when  I  asked  him  to  give  me  Denise ;  and  within 
twenty-four  hours  of  her  mother's  death  she  became  my  wife, 
in  that  dark-shuttered  house  by  the  Capuchin's  alley,  Father  Be- 
noit  performing  the  service.  Louis  was  at  the  same  time  mar- 
ried to  Madame  Catinot,  who  was  to  share  his  exile.  Needless 
to  say,  there  were  no  rejoicings  at  these  weddings ;  no  fete  and 
no  joy-bells  and  no  bride-clothes,  but  sobs  and  wailings,  and 
cold  lips  and  passive  hands. 

But  a  bright  day  has  sometimes  a  weeping  dawn  ;  and  though 
for  three  years  or  more  our  life  knew  perils  enough  and  some 
sorrows — the  story  of  which  I  may  one  day  tell — and  we  shared 
the  lot  of  all  Frenchmen  in  those  times  of  shame  and  stress,  I 
had  never,  no,  not  for  a  day  or  an  hour,  cause  to  repent  the 
deed  done  so  hurriedly  at  Niuies.  Clinging  hands  and  warm 
lips,  eyes  that  shone  as  brightly  in  a  prison  as  a  palace,  cheered 
me  when  things  were  worst;  and  when  better  days  came,  and 
with  them  gray  hairs  and  a  new  France,  my  wife  found  means 
still  to  grace  and  ever  more  and  more  to  share  my  life. 

One  word  of  the  man  to  whom,  under  God,  I  owe  it  that  I 
won  her.  Pie  survived,  but  1  never  saw  Froment  of  Nimes 
again.  On  the  third  day  of  the  riots  cannon  were  brought  to 
bear  on  his  tower ;  it  was  stormed,  and  the  garrison  were  put 
to  the  sword,  one  man  only,  I  believe,  escaping  with  his  life. 
That  man  was  Froment,  the  indomitable,  the  most  capable  lead- 
er that  the  Royalists  of  France  ever  boasted.  He  got  safely  to 
the  frontier  and  thence  to  Turin,  where  he  was  received  with 
honor  by  those  whose  aid  might  a  little  earlier  have  saved  all. 
Who  fails  must  expect  buffets,  however :  the  cold  shoulder  was 
presently  turned  to  him  ;  he  was  slighted,  and  as  the  years  went 
on  his  complaints  grew  louder.  Once  I  sought  to  find  and  as- 


394  THK     KKI)     COCK  AUK 

sist  him,  but  he  was  then  engaged  in  some  enterprise  on  the 
African  coast,  and  my  circumstances  were  such  that  I  could 
have  done  little  had  I  found  him.  Soon  afterwards,  I  l>clicvii, 
he  died,  though  certain  information  never  reached  me.  But, 
dead  or  alive,  I  owe  him  gratitude,  respect,  and  other  things, 
among  which  I  count  the  greatest  happiness  of  my  life. 


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